MINE (End This Way)
by insanechayne
Summary: THIS IS AN AU FIC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Detective Grimes hauls Daryl Dixon down to the station on drug charges, but ends up addicted to his particular brand of love.
1. What's The Matter Here

**Alright, kids, I know I said I wouldn't be posting anymore long chapter fics, on account of starting my novel, but I guess I'm a slave to my addictions. Blame Monica for this, because she's the bitch who put this idea in my head.  
Some things you should know:  
-This is a Walking Dead AU fic. That means no zombies and no apocalypse.  
-This is a Dick story (for those who don't know, Dick is what I call the Daryl/Rick pairing, but I digress). That means lots of Daryl and Rick scenes, and not much of anyone else.  
-This is a love story. I know the beginning makes it seem like it's going to have a more serious tone, but that only lasts for about the first 2-3 chapters.  
-May or may not contain smut. I haven't decided, or thought that far ahead, yet.  
And 100 points to whoever knows the band/album the song I've used as my story's title is from. **

**M.I.N.E (End This Way)**

**Chapter 1: What's The Matter Here**

The heat was sweltering, a thick blanket covering the vast expanse of Georgia's backwoods, and Detective Rick Grimes had to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand more than a few times.

Damn summer heat wave had kicked in now that it was mid-July, and he could swear the pits of Hell had simply swallowed Georgia whole in their horrible, fiery maw. The last thing he wanted to be doing that day was try to catch a perpetrator, but the job required it of him; detectives stopped for nothing but death.

He'd had to park his car about a block away from the offender's house, so as not to alert them to his presence before he could get the drop on them, and had to walk all the way up to their front door. He desperately wished he could remove his suit jacket, but then he would look unprofessional, and God forbid one of the detectives not look perfect and proper in the eyes of criminals, or supposed-criminals.

The house he was visiting today belonged to the Dixon family, a rough-and-tumble trio of muscled and ragged men. The father, whose name he'd never bothered to learn, and the two brothers, Merle, who he'd had to deal with a few times, and Daryl, who he'd seen mostly in passing as he came to collect his brother from a jail cell.

The charges this time around were about illegal substances. A couple of meth-heads had been taken into custody, and the word around town was that one, or both, of the Dixon boys were dealing. Rick had the honors of dealing with them because they could have information about a big-time supplier, or cooker, or boss, which was vital to the investigation that was soon to be ongoing. Usually the beat cops or deputies picked up the druggies and got the information out of them, but the detectives had to deal with any higher-ups, which included small-time dealers selling out of their backwater shack near the woods.

To tell the truth, Rick really wasn't looking forward to this case. His partner, Detective Shane Walsh, was laid up in the hospital with a collapsed lung due to being shot in the back by some criminal or another from their last assignment, and so Rick had been set-up with someone else. Detective Morgan something-or-other.

Where the hell was Morgan, anyway? Oh, wait, he had to pick up his kid, Duane, from school. After the boy's mother had died, Morgan was the only one there to keep him on the straight-and-narrow, which meant taking him to and from school, and everywhere else he needed to go, and not leaving him alone for too long. It wasn't a very good position for a detective, but as long as Morgan managed to pick up his end of the slack Rick wouldn't complain.

Rick crossed the lawn, overgrown with weeds, and made his way up the few breaking steps onto the porch. It creaked under his weight, the wood beginning to rot in some places, and he prayed that it wouldn't break in the middle of his visit. He knocked on the door and stood back, straightening his jacket and tie.

"S'open." Rick heard someone faintly shouting from inside.

He felt uncomfortable just opening the door and barging into someone's home, but he pushed the feeling of unease aside and cautiously made his way into the house.

"Mr. Dixon?" Rick called out, his voice reverberating on the walls.

As he stepped into the front room his eyes fell on a table in front of the ratty sofa. On top of that table were a few titty magazines, a joint or two, and one very large back of Glass. Rick sighed heavily; whoever was here would be getting arrested today, and that would probably entail a fight.

"Mr. Dixon, I need to speak with you." Rick called again, resting his hand on the holster at his hip.

Daryl Dixon came from around the corner, a sandwich in one hand and a can of beer in the other. His hair was longer than Rick had remembered it being, his bangs falling into his eyes, wispy sideburns covering his ears, tendrils curling at the back of his neck. His bright blue eyes were heavy-lidded, yet still observant, giving Rick a very long once-over. Rick felt somehow awkward under the weight of Daryl's stare, and prayed that he wasn't blushing and making a fool of himself.

"Whatcha want, city slicker?" Daryl asked, shoving the end of the sandwich in his mouth and taking a giant bite.

Rick cleared his throat. "I came to ask you a few questions about the rumors spreading around that one of the Dixon men has been dealing drugs. But now that I see you are in possession of illegal substances I am going to have to place you under arrest."

Daryl's eyes widened and he made an odd sound, as if he had chocked on his food. His eyes wandered over to the stash of meth and weed on the coffee table and widened slightly. "That ain't mine. Them's Merle's shit. I ain't never touched that meth crap."

"Mr. Dixon, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present at any time during your questioning process. If you do not have an attorney one will be provided to you at the expense of the government. Do you understand your rights as I have told them to you?" Rick, keeping his hand on his gun, reached into his pocket and pulled out his handcuffs.

Daryl didn't speak, simply stared at Rick's encroaching form. He dropped his beer and sandwich and darted towards the front door, hoping he'd be able to get around Rick and make it into the woods before the detective could catch him. Unfortunately for him, Rick had been expecting that reaction.

Rick's body tensed, every muscle tingling like a live-wire, and his arms shot out, catching Daryl around the waist before he could make it to the exit. Rick wrestled Daryl to the ground, trying to ignore the feeling of the redneck's lithe body wriggling underneath him, and pulled his hands around his back to handcuff them.

Daryl struggled under Rick's weight, trying to buck the detective off of him. "C'mon, man, I said they ain't mine!"

Rick hauled the man to his feet, guiding him toward the front door. "I'm going to take you down to the station for questioning. We'll get this sorted out then."


	2. Sooner Or Later

**Chapter 2: Sooner Or Later**

The ride down to the station was a relatively quiet one. As soon as Rick got him in the back of the car Daryl closed up, wouldn't say a word, and just stared out the window at the passing trees and buildings. Rick glanced at him in the rear-view mirror a few times, and had to practically force his eyes to go back to the road lest he stare at that boy forever. There was just something so appealing about the way Daryl's hair fell in his eyes, shading his cloudy gaze from view.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't much of a struggle to haul Daryl into the station and seated in one of the various interrogation rooms. His muscles never relaxed, and he still refused to speak, but at least he went along willingly enough.

Rick left Daryl alone to stew for a few minutes, grabbing both his and Merle's files, along with a tripod video recorder. He flung the files onto the desk haphazardly, the slam causing Daryl to jerk backward slightly, and set up the camera so that it would clearly record both interrogator and suspect.

"Alright, Mr. Dixon, before we begin, could you state your name for the record?" Rick asked as he flipped through the paperwork in Daryl's file.

"Daryl," He grunted, keeping his eyes fixedly pointed toward the table.

"Y'mind if I just call you Daryl?"

The other man shrugged, a slight movement of the planes of his shoulders so brief that Rick almost missed it.

"Well, then how about you call me Rick? Don't need all the formalities here." Rick offered a smile, but Daryl just glared at him. "Do you want anything, Daryl? A coffee, or a soda, or maybe some water?"

Daryl thought it over for a moment before asking, "'S'alright if I smoke?"

"Sure, Daryl, that's no problem. Let me get you a Styrofoam cup to use as an ashtray, hmm? Then we can get down to business." Rick rose from the table and briskly left the room, letting the door slam behind him.

Rick could just tell that Daryl was going to be difficult, though not in the traditional sense of being uncooperative. There was a feeling building at the bottom of Rick's stomach, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was almost like the way he felt when he first asked Lori on a date all those years ago in high school.

They had been seniors then, though Rick had been admiring her from afar for at least two years. Shane had even gone after her once, though she'd politely rejected him, telling him she had another boy in her life at that time. Rick had been discouraged by that information, but after two years of waiting and watching and listening to the gossip of the grapevine he figured out that she'd never had another guy at all, she just wasn't all that attracted to Shane.

Rick wanted to ask Lori to the Prom, but it was months away, and no way she'd say yes if he didn't at least speak to her sometime before that. So he settled for Homecoming. He asked her to go with him to the football game, and out for dinner afterwards, figuring that if all went well he could also ask her to the dance. He could have been knocked over with a feather when she actually said yes and smiled that bashful little smile of hers.

Rick had felt sick to his stomach with nervousness the entire week before he finally worked up the courage to say the words to her, and he swore he would throw up all over her by the time he managed to track her down at lunch to ask her.

He felt that way now, though without the nauseous aspect. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up in the first place, so that wasn't much of a concern, but he did feel jittery, like he was seventeen again and wringing the strap of his backpack in his hands as he desperately tried to think of what to say. Odd, considering he was simply interrogating Daryl Dixon about illegal substances.

How many people had he taken into custody, sat in that very same chair in that very same interviewing room with that very same tripod video recorder focused on them, and asked every question under the sun until they finally cracked? And not once had he felt even the slight bit nervous, save for on his very first case as a detective, and that was to be expected of a rookie.

So what was it about Daryl that made his stomach flip-flop every which way it could? Daryl was a man; Rick didn't like men. Or at least he didn't think he did. He'd never been attracted to a man before, anyway. But there was something special about Daryl; something in the way his shoulders sagged in defeat, something in the way his muscles flowed beneath his skin, something in the ferocity of those bright blue eyes, something that reflected years of pain but a soul still intact. Rick couldn't help but want to figure out the man's mysteries, and set his burdens free.

But he didn't have time for all of that poetic bullshit right then. He had a job to do, and damned if he wasn't going to do it just because a few emotions were getting in the way. Rick pushed those thoughts from his mind as he grabbed two cups from beside the water dispenser, leaving one empty and filling the other with the somewhat warm water, just in case.

"You got a girl, Daryl?" Rick asked, setting both cups in front of his suspect before moving around to the other side of the table and sitting once more.

Daryl raised one eyebrow, his gaze piercing right through Rick. "What's it matter?"

"I'm just trying to get to know you better is all." Rick shrugged nonchalantly, flipping open his pocket notebook and uncapping a pen. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, Carol." Daryl placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit up, taking a long drag before looking at Rick again.

Rick felt some odd form of disappointment settle into him at Daryl's words. Why did he care whether or not Daryl had a girlfriend or not?

"What's her last name?"

"Peletier. She kept it after her husband died. Ain't never changed it back to her maiden for some reason." Daryl blew a plume of smoke out toward the ceiling, watching it swirl through the air.

Rick could only vaguely remember the woman Daryl spoke of. She had hair that only came to about the middle of her neck, colored a soft white-ish gray, and blue eyes that were full of life, yet heavy with broken dreams. She'd been the one to collect her husband after bailing him out of his domestic abuse charges.

"_The black eye was my own fault, honest." She laughed nervously as she touched a finger to the edge of the swollen bruise, a slight wince tearing her face apart for a fraction of a second before her smile was back in place. "Ed would never hurt a fly, unless they hurt him or his family first. He's a good man, you know. Provides well for me and Sophia. This is all just a big mistake, really it is." She pulled her daughter slightly closer, smoothing a hand over the girl's blond hair, trying to keep the fear from bouncing around in both of their eyes lest Detective Grimes see through her façade. _

Ed had died in jail, apparently of suicide, though the stab wounds that littered his body had been overlooked by most everyone in the department once they saw the noose around his neck. _Good riddance_ had been the mutual thought of everyone at the station that day.

Rick nodded as he looked over the name written down on his notepad. He supposed it made sense for them to be together, seeing as how the same pain was present in both of their eyes.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Rick asked.

Daryl bit at his bottom lip, letting smoke out through his nostrils. "Well, I actually ain't seen her in a while. Two weeks, at least. We kinda had a fight, an' she said she didn't wanna see me no more. Said she was goin' back up to her momma's house somewhere in one'a them upper states."

"So you two are broken up, then?" Rick's tone was a little too enthusiastic, but Daryl didn't seem to notice.

Daryl just nodded, taking a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it into the empty cup in front of him.

"Let's talk about your brother for a minute. You said the stash in the living room was his, correct?"

"Well, it sure ain't mine. Guess it could be our daddy's, but I doubt he'd ever leave is just sittin' out like that fer any damn cop t'see it."

"Where is Merle today, anyhow?" Rick folded his fingers on top of the tabletop, watching Daryl with calm, observant eyes.

Daryl didn't seem any more or less nervous at the mention of the stash or his brother, not like he'd been when talking about his and Carol's fight. Either he was an excellent liar, or he wasn't involved in his brother's dealings; Rick was, for some unknown reason, vying for the latter.

"Not sure. Haven't seen 'im since late yesterday afternoon." Daryl shrugged again, this time meeting Rick's stare, his eyes never wavering.

"Did he say where he was going yesterday?"

"Somethin' 'bout headin' on up to Billy's."

"And who's Billy?"

"Guy who runs the lil' no-name bar in the sketchier part of our neighborhood. For all I know Merle's still buried balls-deep in some lil' hussy's pussy, hungover from last night. 'S'where he usually is on Fridays and weekends." Daryl smirked, but not humorously. This small curvature of his lips seemed to be made more in disgust than anything else.

Rick nodded, a gentle bob of his head, and then proceeded to write down what Daryl had said.

Two hours, one blood test, and one follicle test later Daryl Dixon was free to go. No illegal drugs showed up in his system or in the hair sample they had plucked from his scalp, and simply being in the same house as a dealer didn't make him a criminal; he couldn't exactly help where he lived or who he was related to.

Plus witness statements from the low-life druggies collected from the streets proved that Daryl had never dealt drugs in his life, and that Merle was the powerhouse operator in that little scheme. None of the withdrawl-suffering convicts had ever seen Daryl before.

Rick escorted Daryl out of the building, stopping him at the end of the parking lot.

"If you think of any information that could help in this case, please give us a call." Rick slipped a slim paper card into Daryl's outstretched hand.

Daryl looked at the card for a moment, and then snorted. "I ain't rattin' out my brother."

"I didn't ask you to." Rick nodded to the other man, who continued to stare at him incredulously.

Finally, Daryl shook his head and turned to walk away. Rick watched him walk away, his eyes travelling to the sway of the redneck's hips, and that same nervous feeling seized him once again. A sudden impulse fired through his veins, and he could practically feel the invisible force pushing him towards Daryl's retreating form.

Rick had enough instincts to know that when fate pushed you in a certain direction you didn't fight it. Steeling his resolve, he darted after Daryl, catching his shoulder just before he turned a corner.

Daryl's body tensed, his hands clenching into fists, preparing to defend himself, but when he saw that it was only Rick he relaxed. "Whatcha want now, Rick?"

Rick swallowed roughly, his face flushing a light pink color. "Daryl, uh… would it be alright if I called you sometime?"

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, taking in the sincerity in Rick's deep blue eyes. Was Rick trying to flirt with him? He'd never been hit on by another man before; no other man in his right mind would even think of crossing that boundary for fear that Daryl would put him in the emergency room. Being with another guy hadn't ever really crossed his mind before, at least not in any seriousness. He'd wondered a time or two what it might be like to be with the same gender, what the sex might be like, if the relationship would differ greatly from that of a female's, but he'd shaken the thoughts away; he didn't want to be labeled a queer.

But something about Rick's clean-cut, angular face sparked that same bit of curiosity in him once more, and, surprisingly enough, he found himself whispering, "Yeah, that would be great."


	3. What Lies Beneath

**Chapter 3: What Lies Beneath**

Rick got home around eight that night, his eyes about ready to fall closed the second he stepped foot inside of his apartment. The day had been long, and he felt almost as if it would never end.

The rest of his day had been spent chasing leads that turned into dead ends. A beat cop making his rounds on patrol thought he had seen Merle leaving a downtown liquor store, but it had turned out to be a much older man who happened to have a similar build to Merle. Otherwise there was no sign of the older Dixon brother anywhere around King County, or on its outskirts. Rick figured he'd heard the cops were on his trail and had decided to lay low for a while, maybe out in the woods or even in a neighboring state. In any case, he doubted they'd be seeing hide or tail of Merle Dixon for quite a while, and that made things just that much tougher.

At least Daryl wasn't the one they were after. But why did that mean so much to Rick? Why did he care so much whether or not Daryl got thrown in the slammer? He'd barely paid the boy a passing glance in all the years he'd had to deal with the various members of his family, so why did he have such strong feelings towards him now? All in all it was a very confusing situation for Rick.

Rick had pulled the Dixon boys' files, just in case there was anything in them that could give him a clue as to Merle's whereabouts. He stopped by the fridge on the way to setting his things down, grabbed a beer, and then propped himself up on the couch with the folders.

After taking a hearty sip from his bottle he set it down on the coffee table in front of him, and then sat back, rifling through the papers. He went through Daryl's file first, because it was much thinner than his brother's. Daryl had been hauled in twice on assault charges, both times for beating down one guy or another in a bar who'd smart-mouthed him. Daryl's statements said that both times the guy he'd sent to the hospital had dared to make a remark about his dead mother, and that was something he just wasn't going to tolerate. Neither of those men had pressed charges against Daryl, and so he had been released a few days after his initial processing.

The only other thing in his file was a D.U.I charge from a few months back. Carol had bailed him out, surprisingly enough, and then he had dropped near off the map. He still worked at the same auto-repair shop that he had two years ago, still lived in the same ramshackle house with his brother and his father, still lived the same mostly uneventful life that he always had.

_I wonder if he ever gets lonely, or tired of his situation. I wonder if he ever longs for something better. _Rick mused to himself, setting the slim folder aside.

He threw the folder down on the table beside his beer bottle and picked up Merle's, propping his feet up on the glass surface as he leaned back once more. Looking through that stack would take a lot longer than the simple glance he'd given Daryl's; Merle's rap sheet was near as long as Rick's arm, his folder at least triple the size of his brother's.

Rick sighed as he flipped the cover open, Merle's mug shots grinning up at him with some odd sort of satisfaction. A grimace curled Rick's upper lip, and he had half a mind to just close the file and set it aside for some other detective to sort through. But he had been assigned this case, and he'd see it through to the end, even if that meant staring at the pictures of Merle's ugly face.

Rick skimmed through Merles' various charges, not giving one any more attention than the next. The older Dixon had been in and out of jail since he was fifteen, with a brief period of peace when he was off with the Marines, and his file was practically a rainbow of various crimes. Arson, assault, date rape, drug abuse, D.U.I; he was even a suspect in a manslaughter case that had taken place about five years back, though there was nowhere near enough evidence to stick him with the crime.

There were only two things that really stuck out to Rick: hunting out of season and without a permit, the punishment of which went unenforced, and an accidental forest fire apparently started by still burning end of one of his cigarettes. The fire had really been started because he had a fairly large quantity of PCP in his system at the time and thought the trees were trying to pull him down to his grave, but that was neither here nor there.

These two charges stuck out to Rick because they had happened within the same stretch of wooded area, and they showed that not only did Merle seem to like the forest, at least for certain recreational activities, but he knew how to hunt and hid out there when he took hallucinogenic drugs. It could have just been coincidence, but Rick had a strong feeling that Merle would be in the woods when he was found. He'd even have a couple of the boys go have a poke around those woods tomorrow when he got in to work.

Rick laid Merle's file aside and picked up his beer once more, finishing it with a few long swallows. He'd had as much of this case as he could handle for one night, and all he wanted to do now was take a nice, hot shower and get into bed.

Rick pulled on a pair of fitted blue boxers, the cloth hugging him snuggly just the way he liked, and crawled under the covers. He still slept on the right side of the mattress, next to the bedside table where his lamp and cell phone charger resided, even though he owned a king sized bed.

His bed had been lonely ever since Lori left him, the emptiness on the other side of the mattress like a void just waiting to suck him into it, and he could never bring himself to move to the middle to sleep. Just seeing the spare pillow across from him, like an island in the middle of an open sea, cut deep through his chest.

Rick didn't miss Lori, not really. He just missed having another warm body to cuddle up to at night. Sometimes he wished she were still there beside him, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb as she gazed into his eyes, because she had carried that sense of love with her, and he needed that love at times. But he'd learned to live without her.

"_We never talk anymore." She stared at him, her eyes piercing his own, and he was amazed to see the tears just beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. She was leaving him, wasn't she? So shouldn't he be the one crying? _

"_You're always at work, even when you're not there physically. And I understand that your job is very difficult, of course I do. I know that the things you must see and deal with everyday… I know you have nightmares sometimes. But you never let me help you; you never let me inside. A relationship is supposed to be built on trust, right? But if you can't trust me enough to tell me the things that bother you then I don't think we can be together anymore. When you close off like that… well, it scares me, Rick." She was full on crying then, barely able to speak through her sobs. _

_He, on the other hand, was pretty much emotionless. He felt no sorrow at her leaving, no urge to beg her to stay with him and just give him one more chance. It wasn't that he didn't love her; he just didn't know what to say or do in this kind of situation._

"_Sometimes your eyes get this haunted look, and sometimes you just stare at your gun, and it feels like you're thinking about eating a bullet. And I don't want to come home one day to see you splattered all over the walls, dead and gone. So I'm going, before you pull us both into this... this void you've managed to get yourself sucked into." She slammed her suitcase shut, and then slammed the front door for emphasis, and still he felt nothing. _

_He wouldn't feel much of anything for several hours, and by that time he would already be half-cloaked in dreams, his mind conjuring up the sweet scent of her perfume and the gentle curve of her hips, and suddenly he would jolt upright in bed, forcing the screams to stay lodged in his throat while the tears poured down his cheeks. He would wake up that way for several weeks to come. _

Rick lay on his back, his eyes trying to find the ceiling in the darkness shrouding his bedroom. He didn't want to think about Lori, but his brain didn't seem to care. He could picture her in near perfect clarity; the way her dark brown hair waved over her shoulders, her slender neck and pronounced jawline, her slim waist and curved hips.

Suddenly she image in his mind shifted, taking on an entirely different form. It wasn't Lori he saw now, but rather Daryl. Daryl, with his long, shaggy hair, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, muscular arms, and perfect frame. The man's lips had looked so kissable in the interview room, wrapped around the filter of that cigarette like they just needed something between them to be at peace. And the sway of his hips when he walked down the street had been so alluring. Even under the baggy clothing it was clear that the man had an ass worth bragging about.

Rick fell asleep to the picture of Daryl that floated behind his eyelids. In his dreams he and Daryl were lying on Rick's great big bed, doing things that neither of their dad's would like.

**A.N: The last line (beginning after the comma) is a spin-off of a Hinder lyric in the song Up All Night. It seemed like a fitting parting line so yeah.**


	4. Days Go By

**Chapter 4: Days Go By**

Daryl sat on the front porch, a can of cheap beer held in one hand. The night was still, calm, a gentle breeze blowing and taking away from the heat of earlier in the day. The stars were out, the moon was full, and Daryl could swear he heard an owl in one of the trees next to his house.

No cars were out at this time, considering he was in a small, if not shabby, neighborhood off the outskirts of town. His mind was near as blank as the road, though a few thoughts in particular kept buzzing back into his head every so often. Daryl tried to swat these thoughts away, tried to keep his mind clear and at peace, but they persisted.

These thoughts were all focused on Detective Grimes, and what his parting statement could have meant. Daryl was fairly certain that Rick had been hitting on him, but if that were the case why did he say yes to the man's question?

If Daryl were being honest with himself, which he was trying hard not to, he had quite liked Rick's kind blue eyes, clear as the sky on a perfect summer's day, hovering over his face and trying to capture his own gaze. He hadn't felt uncomfortable under Rick's stare, nor did he feel the need shut the man out with a cold front and gruff demeanor. In fact, the only time he did feel uncomfortable was when he was talking about Carol. Somehow he'd felt all too relieved to let Rick know that they were no longer a couple; he'd felt almost freed by the admission, open to all the new possibilities of the world, and for a fleeting second a voice at the back of his head wished for Rick to be that possibility.

He'd never felt that way about another guy before, and he shuddered to think of what Merle or his father would say if they knew. Merle would probably give him a swift punch across the jaw or two, tell him not to be such a fuckin' pansy ass. But Merle wasn't here, and he didn't know, nor would he ever.

While his thoughts were still safe inside his own head, Daryl decided to let his imagination run free. He pictured him and Rick off in some private area, maybe even down by the creek, since he'd never seen anyone else around there; Rick was kind and gentle, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. And then Rick came a little closer, their faces just inches apart, and Daryl could feel the heat rising into his cheeks even over the fantasy.

In his mind Rick was just about to lean in and kiss him, when a loud thud resounded from the back of the house and promptly brought Daryl out of his daydream. Within seconds the beer can was resting on the table where Daryl's large bowie knife had previously been sitting, the blade gripped tightly in his fist as he quietly made his way into the house.

Daryl could hear muffled mumbling coming from one of the back bedrooms, and as he got closer he realized it was coming from the room he and Merle shared. Someone probably tried to climb through the window and ended up getting caught on the ledge; that had happened to Daryl a time or two when he'd forgotten his keys and had ended up locking himself out. But why would anyone want to break in here in the first place? There was nothing of value in the old shack save for the TV that sometimes worked, which was mounted in the living room out front. Maybe they were a friend, or enemy, of Merle's? That was more plausible, and in that case they were probably searching for Merle's stash, which had already been collected by the police as evidence.

Daryl let out a sharp exhale as he gripped the doorknob in his free hand, steeling himself for whoever was in his room, and then threw open the door. He leapt forward, ready to shove the knife into the mystery person's throat.

"S'that any way to greet yer family, baby brother?" Merle's voice floated to him from across the room.

"Merle?" Daryl asked, confused, and flipped the light switch.

The lamp spilled its yellow glow over the room, washing over Merle. He looked horrible, his eyes bloodshot and feral, his nose red and slightly swollen, a bruise shading one cheek. He was most likely stung-out, coming back to the homestead for one more fix before taking off for wherever he planned on hiding out until the situation calmed down.

"Nah, it's yer Great Aunt Sally. 'Course it's me, dickweed. Couldn't exactly waltz on through the front door lookin' as how I do, now could I?" Merle shook his head and then kneeled beside his bed, his hand searching frantically for any spare drugs he may have hidden there.

"Cops a'ready cleaned the place out, Merle. Stripped the place clean; ain't nothin' left of your stash." Daryl spoke calmly as he leaned against the wall.

"Fuck!" Merle shouted, slamming his hand down on the mattress. "Guess I'ma have to go on back to Billy's, see if I can't bum somethin' offa him."

Merle turned his wild gaze onto Daryl, his eyes seeming to pierce right through the younger man. "Now you listen t'me, baby brother. I'm skippin' town fer a while, gonna hide out in the woods. One of the boy's got a shack out there, deep in the trees n' shit. When things start calming down around here you go to Billy an' tell him t'pass the word on t'me. That's when I'll come back, and then I'll get my ass back inta the game, make us some dough. Got that?"

"Yeah, I got it, Merle." Daryl tucked his knife into his belt, and then made his way back to the front porch, his beer, and his fantasies.

A week had passed, and still Daryl hadn't heard anything from Detective Grimes. He had to admit that he was a little disappointed. When Rick had asked if it would be okay to call him, Daryl had figured the man would probably do so within a few days, talk to him on the sly about whatever was on his mind, maybe even ask to see him again. At least that's how it played out in his dreams, and in the few shitty romances he'd seen in his life.

But Rick didn't call, and Daryl grew more bitter with each passing day. Rick was no different than anyone else in Daryl's life; they got his hopes up and then they left, and he never heard from them again, or if he did it was never under good circumstances. He shouldn't be so hung up over another man, anyway, or at least that's what he tried to tell himself.

Rick had meant to call Daryl, he truly had, but the case was beginning to overwhelm him. He had to re-interrogate every druggie the cops had hauled in over the past year, had to go down to Billy's and talk to him, along with every customer who'd ever walked in the damn place who even knew Merle's name, had to track down Carol and ask her about her relationship with Daryl, and had to review Merle's enormous file more than a few times. He was exhausted, damn near dead on his feet, and found it hard to concentrate on his work because his mind seemed more focused on Daryl than anything else.

Finally Rick had had enough. He needed to see Daryl as soon as possible. He had a free weekend lined up, bought with hard earned vacation time and sick days that went unused, and he planned to spend at least one of those days staring at Daryl's beautiful face.

Daryl sat on the couch watching some mindless program that happened to be playing on one of the still-working channels on his television set. He wasn't paying any attention to it, though, because he was working on getting himself blind drunk. He was on his fifth beer, and was in a nice little headspace, when the phone rang.

Daryl groaned as he pushed himself off the couch, tottering slightly as he did so, and made his way into the kitchen, where the phone hung on a wall.

He picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Daryl Dixon?" The voice on the other end asked. That voice seemed familiar somehow, but in his addled state Daryl couldn't quite place who it belonged to.

"Yeah." He huffed, taking another swig of his beer.

"Oh, um… hi, it's Rick."

Suddenly Daryl was more alert than he'd been in days. His eyes shot open wide, his stance taking on a straighter position, and he tried to breathe around the lump in his throat.

"Whatcha want, city slicker?" Daryl asked, his tone playful, the hint of a smirk curving up his lips.

Rick chuckled softly on the other end before speaking again. "I just wanted to ask if you'd want to grab a cup of coffee with me tomorrow?"

Daryl thought it over for a moment. Rick was asking him on a date, which meant a line had been crossed. Now Daryl had to decide whether he wanted to step over the boundary and meet Rick on the other side, or whether he wanted to retreat back into his lonely shell of solitude.

Daryl expected to say 'no', could practically feel the word bubbling on his lips, but what actually came out was, "I'd prefer a shot or two of whiskey, but I guess coffee'll do just fine; they go down 'bout the same anyway. Where y'wanna meet?"


	5. Alone Together

**Chapter 5: Alone Together**

Pete's Café was a hole-in-the-wall type of place a few miles from the police station and Rick's apartment. The place was made of dusty red bricks that could probably use a paint job, and there was a jade green awning covering the area above the door and window; most people would walk right by this place without ever giving it a second glance, but to Rick it held a certain charm, like it was something out of a stereotypical romance novel where two lovers meet after one accidentally spills coffee on the other; Daryl would have the same thought as soon as he saw the building.

It was surprisingly bright inside the café, and the walls were painted a soft, daisy yellow, which gave it a homey sort of glow. There was a counter in front of the window with four stools in front of it, and two electrical outlets on the wall above the countertop; for some reason people who brought laptops preferred to sit facing the window, with their backs to the rest of the shop. The whole left side of the store was taken up by large pastry cases, as well as the cash register and coffee makers and a sink or two; Pete's was known for its scones, which were the best in town, though very few people were actually aware of that fact. On the right side were two sofas done in a caramel-beige sort of shade, with one medium sized end table placed between them. Magazines littered the table's surface, coffee rings decorating the wood that could be seen from under the pages. Towards the back were three tables with two chairs to them each, though truth be told the tables were barely big enough for one person to comfortably sit there, let alone two. After that the walls grew narrow and jutted into a sharp corner, which turned left into an even narrower hallway that led to the back kitchen area, manager's office, and bathroom.

When Daryl walked in the door, his hair disheveled from riding Merle's motorcycle over (he knew he shouldn't be using the bike, but Merle wasn't around to tell him otherwise, and without Daryl the poor thing would have already rusted clean into front lawn), the guy behind the counter gave him a polite smile and chirped, "Hi there. What can I get for you today?"

"One sec," Daryl mumbled as he surveyed the glass cases, his eyes scanning the scones for the perfect one.

Daryl had quite a bit of a sweet tooth, especially for soft, warm, pastries; often times the thing he missed most about Carol was her baking ability, because she made the best biscuits and pies. After staring just a little too long at the tantalizing scones, he decided on one that proclaimed to be toffee chip. After receiving his scone and large black coffee, he turned and scanned the area for a place to sit while he waited for Rick.

Luckily for him, or perhaps unluckily considering his stomach was a tangled mess of nerves, Rick was already there, seated at the table closest to the back corner. Daryl made his way over to the detective, standing awkwardly beside the table as Rick looked up and noticed his presence.

Rick smiled wide, his face seeming to light up at the sight of Daryl, and the redneck could feel his cheeks flush in response. "Please sit, Daryl. It's nice to see you."

Daryl nodded as he took the seat across from Rick. He didn't have any idea what to say to that sort of remark; no one had ever been happy to see him before. But Rick was waiting for him to say something, and so he blurted out, "S'pose you called me out here t'ask me s'more questions about my brother?"

Now it was Rick's turn to blush, his face taking on a gentle shade of pink. "Actually, no, that's not why I asked you here."

Daryl had known as much from the second Rick had called him the night before, but he needed to have Rick confirm his suspicions, needed him to validate his thoughts and make them real; he didn't want to roll up here thinking he was on his very first date with a guy if the other man was just thinking about his job.

"So why _did_ ya want me t'meet with ya?" Daryl's tone was harsher than he'd meant for it to be, causing Rick's blush to deepen.

"I just wanted to see you, and talk to you without the case getting in the way."

"S'this is a date, then?"

Rick looked a bit like a tomato, his face was so red. "Um, well, kind of, I mean..." Rick stammered, his eyes pointed down toward his coffee cup. He was floundering, searching for some kind of other explanation for what this time between them could possibly be classified as, but nothing else was accurate enough. Finally, after taking a deep breath and a sip of the hot coffee for courage, he said, "Yes."

Rick was fully expecting Daryl to be disgusted. He figured the other man would walk out of the café, or maybe throw coffee in his face, or even punch him right in the mouth, but Daryl didn't do any of those things.

Daryl surprised Rick by saying, "Figured s'much when y'called me last night. T'be honest, I don't mind; if I did I wouldn't have agreed t'come."

Rick was even more shocked than before, his jaw dropping near down to the floor at the other man's admission. He looked up at Daryl, trying to catch his eyes, but the redneck was staring at the wall as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, his own face taking on a very alluring shade of pink.

Rick managed to recover, clearing his throat. "Thank you for coming, Daryl."

Daryl nodded, his eyes still not meeting Rick's. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and emotion, the same questions about his sexuality battering against his head like an angry ram. Everything was so hard to process with Rick not two feet from him, looking at him with those perfect blue eyes; just his presence was enough to put Daryl into an internal tizzy. Daryl had to ask himself once again, am I really into guys? But the question wasn't really about other guys in general, it was about one guy in particular: Rick. And Daryl was very much into Rick.

Maybe talking would help him figure things out. Maybe if he asked, Rick would tell him that he felt the same way, and then Daryl wouldn't have to feel so self-conscious about the whole thing.

"Rick, would y'mind if I asked ya somethin' kinda personal?" Daryl's eyes flickered to Rick's face, gauging his reaction.

The inexpressive mask that Rick used during interrogations was in place, his features blank. "Go for it, Daryl."

Daryl thought about how to phrase his question for a moment, hoping for a wording that wouldn't offend the detective. "Well, y'don't seem like a batter fer the other team, if y'get my drift. Have ya always been swingin' this way, 'r did y'like skirts at some time?" As soon as he finished pushing the words out Daryl clasped his bottom lip between his teeth, praying that Rick wouldn't take things the wrong way.

To Daryl's amazement, Rick smiled kindly at him. "I did like women – do like women. I've only ever had girlfriends in my life. I never even considered another man… until I met you. And I know that sounds cliché and stupid, but there's just something about you, Daryl, that's so appealing to me. I don't know what it is, and I can't explain why I feel this way. But the second I saw you, the moment I looked into your eyes, I knew that you were someone I needed to get to know better. I'm not going to say any shit about soul mates and love at first sight, because then I'd really sound like an idiot, but at the very least I can say that I knew you were the one guy I'd want to try something with, if you'd let me."

Daryl stared at Rick, listening to his answer. So Rick felt the same way he did, thought the same way he did; just knowing that he wasn't alone in that made Daryl feel slightly better.

"What about you?" Rick asked suddenly.

Daryl looked up, startled. "Huh?"

"You weren't always this way, right? You did tell me about Carol, so why did you decide to go down this path?"

"Same reason as you, Rick. Just somethin' special about ya; don't know what it is. I waited a whole damn week fer yer phone call, damn near jumpin' outta my skin every time the phone rang, each time hopin' it was you on the other end fer any reason at all. Hell, I'd have even been happy t'come down t'the station again an' answer more questions just t'see ya. Yeah, I like gals; still got a soft spot fer Carol, if I'm tellin' the truth. But I like you, Rick. And I think I might like t'start somethin' with ya, if that's what you'd want." The blush that had been on Daryl's cheeks a few minutes returned, deeper and darker now, and he was almost certain that Rick would be able to feel the heat radiating off of his skin with how closely they sat.

Rick's smile widened, and he reached out, laying a hand on top of Daryl's. He stroked the back of Daryl's hand gently with his fingertips, glad that the redneck made no move to pull away. "I do want that, Daryl, very much so."

Daryl's lips curved up in a smirk. "This mean yer gonna call me again, city slicker?"

"You bet your sweet ass it does."


	6. How Much Is Real? So Much To Question

**Chapter 6: How Much Is Real? So Much To Question**

Daryl lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't get his mind to shut off. Flickers of the afternoon played behind his eyelids like film reels, over and over again as if they were stuck on repeat.

Finally, when he'd tossed and turned enough to practically throw his back out, he drew back his thin comforter and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed one hand over his face, his fingers grazing his coarse beard stubble. He needed to be outside in the open with the breeze of a crisp night blowing over him, needed to look out over the wide expanse of nature and remember that he wasn't cooped up in some cage, but was free.

Daryl decided that he would climb up to the roof and look at the stars; he'd always liked doing that as a child. He flung open his window and crawled out, using the ledge for leverage as he reached out for the drainpipe. Once he had a firm hold on the slim metal tube, he shifted one foot onto a bracket holding the pipe in place, inching the other foot along the ledge as he did so. Luckily, the tree in his backyard had grown since he was a kid, and a few branches were hanging low towards the house. He was able to swing his foot around to the other side of the bracket, and then brought his other foot up to a slightly higher bracket, bracing himself against the drainpipe as he stretched his arm out to grip the closest branch. His fingers latched onto the branch easily, and he shoved himself away from the house, towards the tree, by pushing his feet against the wall. He swung briefly through the air before being able to get his other hand onto the tree. Once both hands were on the branch he was able to hoist himself up and into the cradle the other branches around him had made. From there all he had to do was inch forward and, at the right time, spring onto the roof.

He landed on the balls of his feet on the roof tiling, a muted thud echoing around him. He thanked his lucky stars that his father still wasn't home; had the old man been around he'd probably have been awoken by Daryl's midnight acrobatics and come out with his fists up.

Daryl inched over to the chimney and clung onto it as he lowered himself into a sitting position. He pressed his back to the brick facing of the chimney, and then he could see the sky in all its vast glory, out to the forest's horizon in the distance. The breeze tussled his hair, his lungs filling with the sweet, fresh night air, and he felt at peace.

The peace didn't last long, however, as images of Rick invaded his mind once more. Daryl's mind kept coming to rest on Rick's eyes, how perfectly clear and blue they were, nothing to mar them. Daryl's own eyes were a much duller shade of blue, nothing special, nothing anyone would actually want to look at for hours on end as he longed to do with Rick.

Those waters had seemed so bright when Daryl had looked into them earlier, even under the not-so-bright lights of the café. And somehow they seemed to glow when Rick looked at Daryl, as if Daryl were the best thing Rick had ever laid eyes on. Just thinking about that intense gaze the detective had made Daryl blush, the heat splotching his cheeks in pink.

And yet Daryl still could not fully comprehend his feelings for the other man. There was an attraction there, that much was certain, but it was like there was some otherworldly pull he had to Rick, as if they both had magnets strapped to their bodies that gravitated toward the other.

Daryl looked up at the stars, wondering if they could help his predicament. The pinpoints of light twinkled in their inky indigo sea, but held no answers to his burning questions. They did seem to soothe him, though, and so he stared at them as he thought.

Even though they'd only parted some odd number of hours earlier, Daryl longed to see Rick again. He wanted nothing more than to let his eyes travel the planes of Rick's face, committing every contour to memory and observing the way every rise and fall of word or breath changed those features. He wanted to trace those lines with his fingertips, see if they felt hard like his own bone structure or soft like Carol's or something in between. More than anything he wanted to find out what Rick's lips felt like; they looked smooth as satin, and he imagined that they felt something akin to silk.

He found himself hoping that something more came out of their tentative relationship. He wanted their first gaze, the thing that somehow drew them both together, to bloom into something worth fighting for. Daryl had never believed in that soul mate crap, but he was starting to second guess that.

Somewhere across town Rick stood on his balcony, watching the small flow of traffic passing below him. Streetlights were on, blocking his view of the sky, and so he settled on watching headlights pass lazily through the semi-dark streets. He, too, was replaying his and Daryl's time together. Their first date.

Daryl had looked so alluring with his hair mussed from the motorcycle ride, his cheeks bitten through with pink splotches from the constant breeze that had battered against them. Rick had wanted to reach over and run his fingers through those strands, push them back into their proper place, see what they felt like against his skin.

Rick had never really believed in soul mates and love at first sight, but he was starting to question how much of it was really false. He could still remember their first meeting the week prior, the spark of electricity that ignited in his veins when their eyes locked. He'd been all too aware of Daryl after that, the way he walked and talked and positioned his lithe body during the questioning. And he could swear there was some unseen force trying to shove them together. That was why he'd approached Daryl on a more personal basis after the interrogation; he felt like he'd been pushed towards the redneck, as if someone had placed both hands square on his back and just _heaved_ him into the other man.

There was something between them, Rick was sure of it. Now all he had to do was get Daryl to fall for him, though judging by the man's demeanor that could be more of a problem than he expected.

Somewhere around two in the morning both men went to their respective beds, crawled under the covers, and wished the other were beside them.


	7. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

**Chapter 7: Once Bitten, Twice Shy**

The next day Rick dressed in his finest suit and tie, shoved his badge into the front pocket of his jacket, grabbed his briefcase, and headed over to Daryl's house. He was trying to make it look like he would be there on official business, just in case anyone in Daryl's neck of the woods happened to see him over there.

Butterflies raged in his stomach as he drove over, his cheeks burning with some odd form of embarrassment. In truth, this probably wasn't his best idea. Daryl might be upset with him for simply showing up on his doorstep uninvited, regardless of the cover he was providing. People who knew Daryl might spot the two of them, although that hadn't even crossed Rick's mind until he was already too far out to turn back.

Well, he would just go with his original plans and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe Daryl wouldn't be that angry, after all, since he'd been the one to ask about a second date in the first place. At least, Rick hoped Daryl wouldn't be too mad.

Rick pulled his nondescript car up to the curb in front of Daryl's house and straightened his tie, mentally preparing himself to go up to the front door. No doubt Daryl had already heard the car's approach and knew he was out there, just waiting for him behind the door with some kind of urgency. But Rick had to work with some kind of script, just in case a neighbor or passerby happened to overhear.

_Just say what you said to him the first time you came here; say that you have some extra questions to ask him, but that they weren't important enough to make him come down to the station. It's not that hard. _Rick thought to himself, the eyes staring back at him from the visor's mirror full of nervous excitement.

It really wasn't a hard mission to accomplish, but it felt so much different now. Maybe it was just because Rick knew it was a lie, and he always had a bit of a struggle lying in the past, but he thought that it actually had to do with the fact that he was quite certain he was in love with the redneck behind that shabby wooden door. And that thought sent a thrill of fear through him, but at the same time it electrified his heart with some kind of otherworldly energy; he felt more alive than he had since Lori left.

'_Jump start my kaleidoscope heart', isn't that how that one song went? _Rick mused. _That song didn't have anything to do with love, though, and it wasn't much my style. _

'_A bleeding heart that once was broken in time can be commended and fulfilled this night. No secret thought will go unspoken, and I can turn this flood into an ocean tide. I see the glimmering of hope in your eye. It seems our destinies are one. Let us make whole what was broken tonight. Let what was dead be awoken tonight.' Now those are some lyrics I can get behind. Plus that song is actually pretty good; I wonder where I put that CD. _

_But that doesn't matter now. Mustn't get sidetracked. I've been sitting out here for almost five minutes, and if I didn't seem suspicious before then I certainly do now. Better get my ass on into that house; we'll be safe once we're both tucked away inside those walls, right?_

Rick broke off his train of thought there before it could get any more twisted and make him sit in that car any longer. With a sharp exhale of breath he grabbed his briefcase and exited the vehicle.

Daryl didn't fully understand how he'd come to be making out with the incredibly hot detective on his ratty living room sofa, but he wasn't about to complain about the turn of events, especially not when Rick's more experienced tongue was tracing the contours of his lips with such a gentle touch that he couldn't help but part them.

At this point everything was a blur to the two, both of them more focused on the present moment than how it had come to be. If you asked either of them what had happened ten minutes before they wouldn't be able to tell you anything except that Daryl had pushed Rick's suit jacket off and loosened his tie, and Rick had, at some point, unbuttoned Daryl's plaid over-shirt to reveal the hard, tanned muscle beneath.

In reality, things had gone as smoothly as Rick had imagined they would. He walked at an even pace up to Daryl's front door and had rapped his knuckles against the wood three times, and then he stepped back a bit to wait. Daryl, though he'd been anxiously staring out the door's peephole since Rick's car pulled up to the curb, had waited fifteen seconds before actually opening the door, realizing the importance of the charade he'd been pulled into; had to make it look like he'd at least walked to the front door from the kitchen.

Daryl had put on a sneer as he pulled the door aside, though it was hard not to let his face light up at the site of his favorite detective. Rick had mumbled some line about needing to ask him more questions and Daryl had stepped aside in the most reluctant way possible.

Once he shut that door, though, the atmosphere had instantly changed. Rick's face broke into a wide, perfect smile, and Daryl couldn't help from doing the same. And when Rick had placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder and pulled him slightly closer, the redneck didn't resist, but rather welcomed the touch. He had a pretty good idea of what Rick wanted to do, and for a moment he was still wildly unsure. But as Rick leaned in to press their lips together Daryl felt all of his worries melt away with the flashburn of heat that burst from his chest out into the rest of his body.

It was a gentle kiss at first, tentative and careful, guarded yet somehow still open. Rick allowed Daryl every chance to pull away, to state that he wasn't ready for such affection, but that thought hadn't even crossed the other man's mind. And so Rick kicked things up a notch, pressing his lips just that much more firmly against Daryl's, trying to meld them together so that he might feel their satin texture for all eternity.

Daryl responded better than expected, matching Rick's force and raising it. Daryl had stopped thinking by then, and was simply letting instinct take over. He brought one arm up and wrapped it around Rick's shoulder, his hand going to the back of the man's neck and curling into the soft strands of hair there. He pulled Rick closer with an almost animal-like ferocity, something that surprised Rick in the pleasant way a young boy might be surprised with his very first bike or BB gun at Christmas.

That was when Rick had unbuttoned Daryl's shirt, the need to touch every inch of him almost overwhelming. Daryl pulled back slightly once his shirt was fully unbuttoned, his chest and abdomen exposed to Rick's eyes and hands. He had a fleeting feeling of self-consciousness, but that disappeared the second Rick's fingers made contact with his skin.

Continuing in the same vein of undressing that Rick had begun, Daryl nearly tore the suit jacket from Rick's shoulders, dropping it haphazardly onto the floor. He managed to just loosen Rick's tie, but gave up on trying to undo it completely; his fingers had never been nimble enough for ties.

In the middle of all that they had found their way onto the couch, and now their bodies were pushed against each other, their tongues fighting for dominance behind their lips, and Rick had one arm around Daryl's waist, pulling him closer, tighter. The other hand was inching its way up the redneck's thigh, so close to the center that Daryl was starting to make tiny whimpers that drove Rick crazy.

Rick's palm cupped Daryl's crotch, his thumb kneading small circles into the stiffness there, and that's when Daryl's eyes flew open. He practically jumped back against the arm of the couch, his mouth pulling away from Rick's with a soft popping sort of sound, and he looked a lot like a small, frightened boy.

"Daryl?" Rick asked, his tone gentle, his expression confused.

"M'not… ready for that yet." Daryl blushed hotly, his cheeks flaming bright pink, and looked away from the detective in front of him. He expected Rick to be disappointed, to grab his things and leave.

Daryl was shocked when Rick, instead, said, "I understand."

He chanced a glance up at Rick, and the man was smiling warmly, his eyes showing nothing but kindness.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to Daryl. Hell, I'm happy just to get to spend a little time with you. I'm not expecting anything from you." Rick reached out and gently laid a hand on Daryl's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

Daryl nodded, and then inched closer to the detective. Tentatively, he leaned in and pecked Rick's lips. Rick returned the peck with the same amount of caution, giving Daryl all the space he needed.

"When m'ready," Daryl said as he pulled back, "it'll be with you."

"I'm willing to wait for that day, for as long as you need me to."


	8. Goodbye

**Chapter 8: The Last Thing I Had Was You Whispering Goodbye**

Daryl folded his arms across his chest, similar to the way a person who was hugging themselves would, though he'd never admit to doing something so pansy-assed as that. Somehow keeping his arms wrapped over each other and pressed so close to his body held in the lingering warmth of Rick's last embrace that he so desperately clung to.

Rick was the first person to show him any true form of love or compassion, and he longed to bask in that glow for the remainder of his days on the earth. However, real life was intervening, and all he had of that fantasy was this soft fire burning through his chest, and the scent of Rick's cologne still floating on an invisible cloud around his body.

Daryl sighed lightly, closing his eyes as he breathed in the now familiar smell. It was fresh and crisp, like the ocean and vodka mixed together, both of which were things that Daryl greatly enjoyed. But there was a sweetness there, too, something heated and spicy, something he couldn't quite name. It could have been something similar to burning firewood, or a half-smoked cigarette, or a charred piece of paper, or maybe just the smoky, wonderful smell of fire itself.

Yes, that had to be it, the scent of fire off a struck match. Most people didn't seem to realize it, but fire had its own scent, one that was faint yet still powerful, and Daryl could spot it in a second. It could be found on freshly struck matches, before the flame charred the wooden matchstick; it could be smelled when you flicked on a lighter, but only for a second, because after that the burning butane inside wafted into the equation and marred the fire's purity. It was a scent that was just on the surface of whatever it was burning, just like sunlight on pavement. Sunlight was pure white and could be seen floating just above what it touched, but the around corrupted it; only on water could you truly see it with any clarity, because the water reflected it back at you like a mirror without destroying it.

A faint thumping sound from the back of the house brought Daryl out of his odd reverie, and he instantly perked up. He swiftly turned and made his way down the hall, patting his pocket for the switchblade there.

_Merle, if that's you again I swear to God. Ain't no cops gonna catch yer lily ass in the dead of night, not 'round these parts; just come through the fuckin' door. _Daryl grumbled internally to himself, part of him hoping that it was just Merle so that he wouldn't have any trouble tonight, part of him hoping that it wasn't just so he'd have the chance to vent some anger on the poor sucker who tried climbing through his windows.

His bedroom door was already open, and all he had to do was reach up to the left and flick on the light switch. Light flooded the room and, sure enough, there was Merle looking pissed off, and perhaps like he could use a hit.

"Goddammit, Merle, what the fuck do you want now?" Daryl shouted, both relieved and angry that it was just his brother standing in front of him.

"So yer a candy-ass now, that it?" Merle spat, taking a step toward his younger brother.

"What the fuck r'ya even talkin' about?" Daryl huffed, rolling his eyes.

There was something in Merle's eyes that Daryl didn't like, something wild and feral and stone cold. For the first time since his early teens, Daryl felt genuinely afraid.

"How long ya been takin' it bent over from that badge, huh? S'that why he let y'go the other day, 'cause ya 'convinced' him ya were innocent with that little slut mouth'a yers?" Merle was sneering now as he began to move closer to Daryl.

The words all clicked into place, and Daryl realized that somehow Merle knew about his carryings-on with Rick. They hadn't been careful enough, they had slipped up somewhere along the way. Sure, they'd only had two dates, one of which was way out in the city where no one had been likely to see, but someone must have. Daryl knew this had all been a huge mistake, but he just hadn't been able to say no to Rick; he wished now that he'd had more willpower.

Daryl put on his most shocked, confused face and mumbled, "Merle, yer not makin' any sense. You find a stash out in the woods 'r somethin'?"

Suddenly Merle was right in front of Daryl, his arm swinging out and connecting with Daryl's cheek so fast that it was just a blur before the blow actually landed. Daryl was knocked back against the door frame, the wood catching him between the shoulder blades; a flare of pain burst there, but was overshadowed by the flashbombs of agony going off in his jaw and nose.

Daryl's mouth filled with blood, and he spit it in the direction of Merle's boots, looking up at his older brother with hate-filled eyes. "What the fuck was that for, asshole?!"

If Daryl's vision hadn't begun to double he might have hit Merle back, given him a run for his money, but that one hit packed a wallop; it was probably due to the fact that Merle was strung-out and overly antsy.

"Mike Hanlon saw you leave on my bike the other day, ride off into the city. Earlier today he saw some fancy-ass city man walk on up here, flash a badge and some pretty words, and you let him on in. Now, Mike knows Billy. You 'member Billy, right, baby brother? Well, good ol' Billy Denbrough is one loyal sum'bitch to me, an' soon as Mikey told him, he came out 'n told me. So of course I hadda haul ass on out here, check out this lil' problem for m'self, and what do I see soon as I come up on the house? Why, you're letting Mr. Sweet Suit out the front door late at night, lookin' around all suspicious like, an' then kissin' him flush on the lips. So d'ya wanna explain this t'me, baby brother? I mean, maybe ol' Merle here's just gettin' on in years, goin' a bit senile, 'r maybe bein' strung-out's makin' me hallucinate. But it sure seemed t'me like you two've been hidin' out in the closet fer a bit, maybe suckin' the root." Merle leaned in close to Daryl, his hot breath blowing over Daryl's face. Merle's eyes bored into Daryl's, flickering with vengeful fire and hard as steel.

Once again, Daryl was afraid. He had hoped Merle would never find out about this, that he'd be so far in the woods he'd never come across them by accident, and that no one would ever see enough to get the information back to him. He didn't quite understand what he and Rick were doing himself, so how could he explain anything to Merle?

And then, things only got worse. Daryl's lips tingled, his throat vibrating with the words being pushed out, words that he had no intention of saying, words that didn't make sense, words that he hadn't even thought were true until this very moment. "But, Merle, I love him."

Where had that come from? Daryl had never said those words to anyone in his life, except his parents, and that didn't count because he'd never meant it when he said it to them. He didn't even believe that love existed, much less that he could be _in love_ and especially not with another man. But he'd blurted the words out all the same, and found that they were true. He did love, Rick, with the entirety of his being.

Merle's face changed. The anger and hatred that had been etched into his features just moments before was no longer there, and instead a sort of emptiness had taken their place. Merle's face had no expression, his eyes no longer blazed, and he looked like he'd been frozen in time.

Merle's arm shot out again, this time his fist connecting with Daryl's torso. Daryl's breath rushed out of him in a whoosh, and he groaned as his stomach constricted; he thought he might vomit all over both of them. But there was no time to think of throwing up, because Merle was rearing back for another hit. The next one caught Daryl under the chin, sending his head flying back into the wood frame with a sickening crack.

Daryl could swear he was trying to move through quicksand with how muddled his head felt right then. His vision swam, blurred either by tears or whatever had been knocked out of place with that blow, and he could feel the shadow of unconsciousness creeping up to claim him. He barely even noticed that Merle was pummeling him with the force of a freight train, never registering the punches that landed on his long-worn body; the only one that roused him even slightly was the swift knee that planted itself into his groin. And that's when he did throw up, the contents of his earlier meals spewing over Merle's combat boots and the wood-barely-covering-dirt floor and his own bare feet. His stomach heaved and roiled like a storm on the sea, and he began to cough and choke on the blood that was getting caught in his throat.

Merle waited until Daryl had settled down, and then he gripped the other man's cheeks firmly between his fingers. He brought Daryl's face up until they were eye to eye. "Now you listen to me, baby brother, and you listen good. I get word of that pansy fuck comin' round here again, or I see it m'self, I'll kill you both. And don't think I won't be checkin' up on ya from time to time, because I sure as hell will be. Ain't no brother of mine's gonna be a faggot, you hear me?"

Daryl tried to murmur some form of acknowledgment, tried to at least nod his head, but all he managed was a weak groaning that hurt his acid-corroded throat. Thankfully, Merle took that as answer enough, and released his brother. He turned back to the window and began to climb out again.

Once Merle was out of the house he turned back to the window, leaning down enough that he could see Daryl through the opening. "Don't forget what I said." And then he took off into the night.

Daryl, with all the strength he could muster, limped his way into the kitchen. He picked up the phone, wincing at the pain lifting his arm caused, and dialed Rick's number.

"Rick, I can't see ya anymore."


	9. Who's Going Home With You Tonight

**Chapter 9: Who's Going Home With You Tonight**

Rick paced around his living room, occasionally stopping to close his eyes and scrub his hand over his face. He was tired, but too wired to sleep; he was confused, but his thoughts were too jumbled to try to figure things out. He looked down at the cell phone still clutched like a talisman between his white-knuckled fingers, as if it could tell him what the right thing to do was.

Daryl had called him roughly an hour ago, his breathing labored, his voice husky, and abruptly broke things off. Rick didn't have the faintest clue as to why Daryl had done this, because as soon as he had said the fateful words he hung up the phone, leaving Rick no time to respond, or ask 'why'.

_Rick, I can't see ya anymore. _That small, yet powerful, sentence replayed in Rick's mind for what felt like the thousandth time, each syllable reverberating around his head in high definition, and yet he still couldn't quite make sense of them, at least not completely.

Not even an hour before Daryl's call the two of them had been making out on that tattered old couch in Daryl's tiny excuse for a front room, and Daryl had told Rick that, though he wasn't ready at that exact moment, when he was Rick would be the one he made love to. Rick had promised to wait, just as Daryl had promised that the detective would be his first, and now that promise, both of their promises, had been shattered to pieces. How could you wait for something that, now, would never come? How could you promise something so intimate to someone in one breath and then cut them out of your life in another?

Something must have happened to Daryl to make him change his mind, and so abruptly, too. But what event had occurred to cause such drastic changes; that was the true question.

Maybe Carol had walked back into the redneck's life, had lain in his bed and given up her body to him once again, and he had remembered why he'd been with her in the first place. That seemed plausible enough, especially with how Daryl's voice had sounded over the phone.

_I love you, Daryl. I'm sorry I left. Please, let me make it up to you. _Rick could hear the vixen's voice in his ear clear as a bell, as if she were whispering it to him from less than an inch away.

Of course, that's what had to have happened. Well, Rick wasn't about to take that kind of blow without some form of retaliation. Fuck what Daryl said, Rick was going back to that ramshackle house right that second to settle the score. No way in hell was he going to just let someone he cared about, someone he had thought cared about him, end things with a few whispered words over a shitty phone line, and then hang up as if his feelings didn't matter.

Rick stalked into the bedroom, shoving his feet into his shoes without bothering to make sure they were even put on properly, grabbed his keys from off the front counter, and practically ripped the door handle off in his haste to get into his car.

He fired up the engine and shot like a bat out of hell down the road, back to Daryl, letting his fury fuel him.

Daryl lay in bed on his back, one hand tightened around his torso. He was pretty sure Merle had broken some ribs, but he was still debating on whether or not to go to the hospital. After all, if he went to the hospital there would be questions as to how he came to be in this condition, and he couldn't exactly tell the doctors that his withdrawl-addled brother had broken into his house and beat the shit out of him for dating a male detective on the sly. That would bring even more questions, and with the way he was feeling right now talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

He'd choked down about seven tablets of ibuprofen, followed those up with two Vicodin from the leftover prescription stash that the cops didn't seem to notice, and chased it all down with about four and a half shots of whiskey. The pain had subsided in his face and groin, and his stomach felt a little sore, like he'd done too many crunches and then thrown up, but it wasn't helping his ribs much. Every time he breathed or moved even a millimeter his side would protest, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his entire body.

So he lay still, kept his eyes closed, and let his head swim. He left like he was trying to swim through quicksand, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. The fuzziness inside his head took his mind off of the pain in his body, and he was more than grateful for that.

He was cl0se to sleep, almost ready to fall into dreamland, when a knock sounded from somewhere far away. Someone at the front door, judging by how far the sound seemed to have to travel to reach him. He would ignore them, they would leave, and he could settle into a nice slumber.

The knock came again, this time louder, more insistent, and he could swear it had traveled right into his brain and rattled against his skull. Maybe he was just a little loopy from the medication and alcohol, or maybe he was now in hyper alert mode from the urgency of the knocking.

With a groan and a curse he pulled himself up and out of bed, nearly dropping back down to his knees at the pain such a movement caused; getting to the door would be a hell of a struggle.

Somehow Daryl managed to shuffle his way to the door, though neither the pain nor the knocking ceased. He had half a mind to shout at whoever was on the either side of the wood to shut the fuck up because he was almost there, but he couldn't seem to make his throat push the words out.

Finally he managed to reach out, grip the doorknob tightly, and slowly pull the door open. Through his slight haze he could see that it was Rick on the other side. Part of Daryl wanted to smile, because oh how he'd hated to make that call to the man he loved, but another part wanted to scream at the detective to run, run far away and never come back lest Merle come back and really kill them both. He supposed he didn't mind dying so much if he had to, but he couldn't bear to see any harm befall Rick.

Rick had been fuming as he pounded on the door, preparing to shout obscenities at Daryl as soon as he opened the door, but all the fight rushed out of him in a whoosh when he took in the redneck's battered form.

Daryl had one black eye, bruises and cuts spattered over his forehead and cheeks, a swollen upper lip, and his nose appeared to be broken. He was hunched forward slightly, his arm gripping tight to his side, as if he were trying to hold himself together, and Rick knew that the man had broken some ribs.

"Daryl, what the fuck happened?" Rick asked, his voice a mere whisper as his eyes continued to rove over the quivering man in the doorway.

Daryl didn't answer, just brought his teeth down on his bottom lip, and Rick could see that one of his canine teeth was chipped. Daryl averted his gaze from the detective's, too ashamed and afraid to look at him full-on.

The fear was a shock to Daryl, considering he'd stopped being afraid of anything about the time his father started doling out beatings. But that fear was present now, turning his veins into ice, because the longer Rick stood there in the doorway, that strangely adorable dumbfounded look lingering on his face, he was in danger of Merle seeing and coming back to put him in the ground.

"Told ya I can't see ya no more, Rick. Go away." Daryl spoke as firmly as he could muster, preparing to close the door in Rick's face.

But Rick wasn't about to be brushed off that easily; he needed an explanation, and Daryl needed a doctor. He gently pushed his way into the house, removing Daryl's fingers from the door to close it himself, and then cupped Daryl's face in his hands.

Rick tentatively smoothed his thumbs over the bruises and cuts on Daryl's cheeks, moving lower down to trace the outline of Daryl's swollen lip. Cautiously, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Daryl's, his touch feather light; Rick could think of no other way to show the other man his love at that moment, could think of nothing better to convey that he would help him and stand beside him forever.

Rick pulled back after a brief moment, staring at Daryl's closed eyes until the lids lifted and he was graced with that beautiful blue he loved so much. "Please, Daryl, tell me what happened, and let me help you."

Daryl hesitated for a moment, his eyes showing his uncertainty, but finally he sighed and nodded. Rick helped him get to the couch, giving his body a minimal reprieve from the agony it was suffering. His head still felt fuzzy, his thoughts still somewhat unclear, but Daryl fought through the clouds inside his mind to tell Rick his tale.

Daryl recounted how Merle had come through the window, quoted as many of the words Merle had said to him as he could remember, and blanketed his injuries with the vague term of "and then he beat the shit outta me." Rick listened intently, never interrupting, the dull rage boiling his blood once again. He would bring Merle Dixon to justice for what he'd done, no matter what.

After Daryl finished the two men sat in silence for a while, Rick trying to think of a solution to the problem presented, Daryl waiting for Rick to say something.

A few minutes passed, and then the light of a new idea flashed brightly in Rick's eyes. "Merle doesn't know where I live."

"Yeah, so?" Daryl questioned, raising one eyebrow in confusion.

"So I think that you should come stay with me for a little while."


	10. Remedy

**Chapter 10: Remedy**

"Rick, dammit, I told ya m'fine." Daryl huffed, rolling his eyes for about the hundredth time as Rick turned down the dirt driveway that led to his friend's house.

Daryl had already forgotten the name that Rick had said to him about an hour prior; he was still pretty fuzzy from all the medication and alcohol he'd mixed together to try and numb his pain. All he knew now was that they were on a very beautiful plot of land, even though little of it could be seen clearly at night, and they were almost at what appeared to be the main house of the property. He knew that Rick's friend was a doctor of some kind who would apparently "fix him right up", but he didn't quite trust Rick's judgment of any doctor.

"You are not fine, Daryl." Rick stifled a chuckle at the expression on Daryl's face. "Broken ribs are pretty serious, and I think something more than your nose might be broken in that gorgeous face of yours, and, Daryl, when it comes to your face I don't ever want it to look any different."

Daryl made a snorting nose, which sounded slightly wheezy coming through his off-kilter nostrils. "I ain't that good-lookin', Rick. Don't know what you see in my damn face, anyhow."

The car was stopped now, the two men idling in the front seats. Daryl stared out the windshield, admiring how much brighter the stars looked out here, even in comparison to his woodsy shack, while Rick admired Daryl.

Rick loved everything about Daryl's face, right down to the tiny mole next to the corner of his lips and the way his right eye had that slight bag under it. They were all part of the complex makeup of who Daryl was, and they deserved to be treasured like the precious gems they were. Daryl should have gotten that message loud and clear, considering how often Rick touched his face when they were together, and especially when they were making out. But he could dwell on those things later; right now Daryl needed medical attention.

"Time to go inside, Daryl. I'll come around and help you out." Rick spoke over his shoulder as he opened the car door and stepped out.

Daryl reached out and opened his own door, though with the effort it took to try and push it, it only opened about a crack. "Don't need yer damn help." Daryl grumbled to himself, using most of his strength just to try and shove the door away from the car.

Rick stood beside the car patiently, watching Daryl struggle. If he tried to help now Daryl would snap at him and do everything on his own, even if it killed him; best to let Daryl's stubbornness wear itself out and offer assistance when the man was too exhausted and fed up with his plight to argue.

Daryl finally managed to get the door most of the way open, a triumphant smirk gracing his features as he glanced up at Rick through his eyelashes. _Told ya so, _that smirk seemed to say. Rick folded his arms over his chest as Daryl swung his legs out of the vehicle, holding in his laughter at the way Daryl gripped the roof of the car with one hand while the other stayed tightly cinched around his middle, his face flushing a gentle pink as he attempted to pull himself into a standing position.

Daryl had gotten about two inches off the seat before his strength faltered and he fell right back onto his ass. A look of panic swam into his semi-clouded eyes, and you could practically hear his thoughts screaming _now I'll have to ask Rick for help._

Before Daryl even had to utter the words Rick was there, bending down with his arms outstretched to assist his love. Rick wrapped one arm under Daryl's right armpit, bracing his back and shoulders to keep him from falling again, as well as acting as a pulley so that Daryl wouldn't have to use all of his strength to try and lift himself again. The other hand gripped Daryl's left hand firmly, which would allow Daryl to push himself up by using Rick, and would probably make the redneck think that he'd needed only minimal assistance.

It took them a moment, but soon enough they were standing outside of the car, Daryl's face contorted in a mixture of minimal pain and major embarrassment and Rick's lips curved up in a secret smile that he partially hoped Daryl didn't see.

"What on God's green earth happened to you, son?" Hershel Greene asked as he took in Daryl's ragged form, half-leaning away from Rick.

Rick had called Hershel from his cell phone shortly after Daryl had told him what had happened. Hershel had been sleeping at the time, but agreed to stay up and help the injured man. Roughly two hours later Rick and Daryl stood on Hershel's front stoop, looking much the worse for wear.

"Long story." Daryl mumbled, averting his eyes from the older man's. He felt uncomfortable when anyone stared at him, but especially so when he was so wounded and in need of the other person's help. He hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with those stares, the knowledge that he was exposed to their questions and their judgments and was powerless to stop either from coming.

"We can tell you all about it later, Hershel. Right now Daryl really needs your help." Rick threw his friend a glare laced with urgency and concern.

Hershel regarded the pair a moment longer before nodding and stepping back from the entryway, holding the door as wide open as it would go to give them access. Rick, one arm firmly bracing Daryl's underarms while the other kept the redneck's arm in place across his shoulders, practically lifted Daryl over the threshold.

"Which way?" Rick asked.

Hershel pointed to a room just off the left of the main foyer. "In there."

Rick hauled Daryl into the room and set him gently on the Queen-sized bed, feeling an internal pang of guilt at the way Daryl winced. Hershel followed in behind them, rolling up the sleeves of his night-shirt.

Daryl slept soundly under the covers of the guest bed where he'd been treated, his soft snores filling the room. Rick watched him, almost unable to tear his eyes away from the angular face he adored so much, now smooth and worry-free; he longed to see Daryl looking that way more often, without all the hurt and sorrow etched into his features over a lifetime of unspoken hardship.

"Rick, standing there won't make him heal any faster. Let him rest." Hershel gave the detective a slight nudge in the direction of the front sitting-room.

Rick reluctantly left Daryl's side, resolving to return as soon as he possibly could.

Hershel lowered himself into an armchair, Rick plunking onto a sofa beside him, the two looking a bit like worn out rag dolls from some past child's toy collection.

"What happened to that man, Rick?" Hershel asked, leveling the other man with a hard stare.

Rick sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It's not my tale to tell, Hershel. Daryl wouldn't like me divulging the details of her personal life." Which was true, for the most part, though Rick just really didn't want to talk about the earlier events of the night.

Hershel nodded, contemplating his next question before voicing it. "Alright, then tell me _why _it happened. Tell me why you had to call me past midnight to treat your injured friend off the grid when there were plenty of open, operating hospitals much closer to your neck of the woods."

Rick closed his eyes, trying to figure out the best way to answer such a loaded question. He didn't know where to even begin with that explanation. "It's a long story."

"We've been up late enough, Rick. A little longer won't matter much. I deserve an explanation."

Rick sighed again, deeper this time, his distaste for this conversation making itself quite well known. "Hospitals would ask too many questions, file paperwork and reports, make this whole incident a little too official, you know?"

"Did you do this to that young man, Rick?" Hershel asked, his voice soft and pitched low.

Rick's eyes shot open, a glare of pure hatred finding Hershel in its rays. "Of course not. How could you even ask that of me? You know I'm not that kind of man."

"I was just making sure. The way you're wording your answer is more than a little suspicious, you know." Hershel leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach.

"It was Daryl's brother, alright? Asshole went nuts, beat his little brother half to hell."

Hershel nodded, watching as Rick plucked at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt.

Rick was debating with himself whether or not to tell Hershel the whole truth, the whole reason why Merle had gone and kicked Daryl's ass into the ground. Hershel was a religious man, and Rick wasn't too sure how he would take the information.

Finally he decided he was too tired to try and beat around the bush any longer. "Daryl and I are… together. That's why his brother hurt him, because he couldn't handle his kin being… with another man. I had to haul Daryl down to the station a while ago to ask him some questions about a case. He was innocent, but it would still look bad, for both of us, if word were to get out that a detective was dating a prospective perpetrator. That's why we couldn't just go to the hospital. Besides, hospitals make Daryl uncomfortable. He wouldn't go anywhere but here, because you're off the grid and everything." Rick shook his head as he spoke, letting it loll back on the couch's cushions.

Hershel didn't speak for a long while, processing all the information Rick had given him. It was minimal, but full of important details that he knew Rick was hoping he would miss.

"Suppose that's reasonable enough, given the circumstances." Hershel said.

Rick looked over at him. "That's all you're going to say?"

"What, do you expect me to preach at you, Rick? You're a grown man, and you make your own decisions. You choose who you're going to be with, and no sermon from me is going to change your mind. I just have one question for you." Hershel met Rick's gaze now, his lined face filled with nothing but kindness.

"What is it?"

"Do you love him?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Then protect him, even from his family. Make sure this doesn't happen to him again, because if his brother decides to come around and hurt him another time, he might not survive it. One of those broken ribs was an inch away from puncturing his lung; I could see that even without an x-ray.

"If you love him, keep him safe, Rick. I know all too well the pain of losing someone you care about, someone you love in that special way." Hershel reached out and patted Rick's knee, giving it a firm squeeze to both comfort and drive home his point.

Rick looked at that hand, wrinkled, worn with work and age, and was filled with such gratefulness for Hershel's friendship that he thought he might cry.

"I'd move heaven and earth to prevent this from happening again. I'll do whatever it takes to protect him, forever."


	11. Risk It All

**Chapter 11: Sometimes You Gotta Risk It All, Let's Risk It All**

Hershel allowed Rick and Daryl to spend the remainder of the night, and part of the next morning, in the guest room of his home; mostly because Daryl was out cold until somewhere around seven in the morning.

Rick spent his night reclining in an armchair that he had pulled up to the bed, staring down at Daryl's still form. He thought again of how he longed to see Daryl's face smooth, unperturbed by worry and sorrow, more often in real life. He vaguely wondered what Daryl was dreaming about, a small smile curving his lips at the thought that it could possibly even be him. But Rick was being silly, and he laughed at himself lightly as he settled deeper into the cushy chair. He'd been on morphine before, and he remembered that while on it he didn't dream, but rather just blacked out for several hours. So of course Daryl wasn't dreaming about Rick, or about anything else in particular, he was just deep in slumber's dark shadows, resting his weary body for the morning.

But Rick was wrong this time around. Daryl was dreaming, even under the warm caress of the morphine, and what's more he was actually dreaming about Rick. It wasn't a particularly detailed dream; there was no dialogue to it, and Daryl couldn't make out quite where they were (though he figured it was somewhere in the woods, because his vision was interspersed with shades of green and because he felt most at ease in the forest), but he could clearly see Rick's face, and that was enough to make him happier than he'd been in weeks.

In this dream Rick was smiling at him, his blue eyes getting those corner crinkles Daryl adored so much, and running a thumb over his cheek. He could feel a slight flush heating his face, but no internal embarrassment followed it. He enjoyed Rick's gentle caress, longed to push his face into the man's palm so he could feel that touch over a wider expanse, and then Rick was doing just that, cupping his jaw, cradling it even.

Perhaps Daryl dreamed this way because back in the real world Rick was making those same motions. With a touch so feather light Daryl had no hope of rousing from it, Rick trailed his thumb over the man's slightly bruised cheekbone. He moved his hand down lower, his palm encasing Daryl's jawline, the stubble there tickling his skin.

Rick was both checking Daryl's injuries and trying to offer comfort, if only to the sleeping man's subconscious. But maybe he was trying to comfort himself, as well, or trying to come to terms with the fact that the perfect creature resting under his hand was truly his, in a sense. Rick still couldn't quite believe that Daryl loved him back, or had willingly agreed to move in with him; hell, he was still amazed that Daryl hadn't simply punched him in the face and walked away the second he even hinted that he might want to take the redneck on a date.

Rick leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to Daryl's, kissing his sleeping beauty. "Thank you so much, Daryl. For everything you have given me."

And with those whispered words Rick leaned back and let sleep overtake him.

The morning found the two lovers back in Rick's car, making the two hour drive back to Daryl's home so that he could pack his things. Rather so that he could tell Rick what to pack, since Rick had no intention of actually letting Daryl do anything so strenuous with his injuries.

Hershel had given them each a strong cup of coffee and bid them goodbye with a kind pat to each shoulder and a mumbled "gotta go feed the horses."

They didn't talk much on the way back, but their silence wasn't uncomfortable. The sound of the car whooshing down the road was quite soothing, and Daryl seemed to enjoy staring out the window at the nature passing them by, so Rick let him be.

Finally they arrived at Daryl's house, and Rick rushed around to the passenger side to help the other man out of the car. Again, Daryl tried to get out on his own, and again he had to give in to Rick's assistance once his body reminded him of its current limitations. Rick half-carried Daryl into the house, heading straight for the back bedrooms. Once in Daryl's room Rick guided the redneck to the bed and sat him down.

"Alright, Daryl, tell me what you need." Rick spoke as he looked around the small room, his eyes roving over its entirety, searching for some kind of suitcase or bag in which to pack his love's things.

Because he was distracted, Rick didn't notice Daryl's silence for a few moments longer than he normally would have. But sitting there on the bed Daryl was a wreck, both physically and emotionally. His teeth had clamped down onto his bottom lip, his fingers were fidgeting restlessly with the sheet covering his mattress, and his eyes were fixed firmly onto the floor.

"Daryl?" Rick called his name softly, concern blanketing his tone.

Daryl's eyes shifted up to the detective's, panic roiling their blue waters.

"Daryl, what's wrong?" Rick asked, his own panic taking over, and he knelt in front of Daryl, clasping the man's hands tightly within his own.

Daryl couldn't meet Rick's eyes, and instead focused on their hands, twined together like they were born that way. He couldn't bring himself to give voice to the thoughts plaguing him, either, afraid that Rick would be upset by them.

_What if I tell 'im what I'm thinkin', an' he agrees with me? Is that what I want, fer him t'come t'my realizations, too? Or do I want him to argue with me, force me inta seein' things from his point of view? Maybe I need him to convince me that this is the right decision, 'cause if he left it all up t'me I'd end up sittin' on this goddamned bed m'whole life an' never actually makin' the damn choice, 'cause both paths are too damn risky for me without him helpin' me out. _

"Daryl, you gotta talk to me. Are you in pain? Hershel gave me some extra medication, if you need to take some now." Rick reached up and traced over the injuries he could clearly see on Daryl's body, like his bruised cheek and jawline, and the ridge of his formerly broken nose.

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, I ain't hurtin', 'least not physically."

"Then what is it?"

Daryl took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, it's just that… what if this ain't the right choice? Maybe I shouldn't move in with ya. Maybe I should just stay here."

Rick snorted, taking Daryl by surprise. "Stay here and what, Daryl? Wait for Merle to come back around and beat you up again, maybe even kill you?"

"I just mean that maybe… maybe we shouldn't see each other no more. Then Merle won't have no damn reason t'come 'round and hurt either of us."

Rick was silent for several agonizing seconds, and then, "So you want to break up with me. You don't want to see me anymore, and you're going to use Merle as an excuse."

Daryl's eyes widened and his head snapped up, sending a flash of pain through all of his injuries. "That's not what I mean at all, Rick. I don't ever wanna be without you, not fer the rest of my life. But I'd do that if it meant you'd be safe. I'd suffer so y'could live in peace."

"Daryl, what are you even talking about?" Rick's eyes had hardened into something akin to ice, and Daryl, for the first time since meeting the man, was afraid of him. But he was caught in the snare of Rick's gaze, and was unable to look away.

"Merle… he said if we stayed t'gether he'd kill you. Kill us both, really, but you first, an' knowin' my brother he'd make me watch. I couldn't bear that Rick, seein' ya hurt 'cause of me. Y'can do better'n me, anyway; y'deserve better'n me." Daryl mumbled out the last part, his voice taking on a hushed tone.

Rick was shocked. He knew Daryl had self-esteem issues, but he'd never thought the man would be this willingly blind. Rick tried to show Daryl he loved him every chance he got. He loved to kiss those lips, so soft though they resided in such a hardened person. He loved to run his fingertips over that satin smooth skin, over the places calloused by hard work and the spots still as sensitive as a newborn's skin. At this point there was no such thing as "deserve", there was simply _need. _Rick couldn't be without Daryl any more than he could be without water. Sure, dehydration took about three days to fully kick in and kill someone, but Rick figured that as much time completely without Daryl would have the same effect on him in the end.

"Daryl, I don't have the words to tell you just how much you mean to me. That would take about the whole damn dictionary's worth of words, and at least every sonnet ever written to someone else's lover. I don't deserve better than you, because we are equal, and that makes us both perfect, especially when we're together. You can't have yin without yang, right? Well, that's us, the equal parts of light and dark that mesh together to make one whole picture.

"I'm the one that took a chance; I'm the one that took a leap of faith. When no one else believed in me I stood my ground and found my place. And that place is here beside you, Daryl. Sometimes you just gotta stand on the edge. Sometimes you gotta risk it all. So let's risk it all." Rick smiled up at Daryl, his eyes clear of that anger and hurt once more.

Hearing Rick's words made Daryl certain about what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to be with Rick, now and forever. So he would move in with Rick. He would take that leap of faith, just as Rick had taken a leap of faith in asking him out that day that now seemed so far away.

Daryl couldn't think of any words poetic enough to reply to Rick, so he would let his actions speak for him. He leaned forward, closing the minimal gap between them, and pressed his lips to Rick's. He let his mouth speak in a different way to show the man before him just how much he loved him and trusted him.

Daryl took a chance, and found his place. Daryl was willing to risk it all.


	12. The Dance

**Chapter 12: The Dance**

Rick's apartment was wider than Daryl had first imagined, though he'd never been inside an apartment building, so he never really had an accurate picture to base his thoughts on in the first place. It was a two bathroom-two bedroom, one master and one not, and the non-master one was currently being used as a sort of "study", a place where Rick could relax with some music or go over case files or just peruse the internet if he so chose. The kitchen had just enough space for two people to cook together side by side, or squeeze around each other back to back, and at the back of the kitchen was the area which held the washer and dryer. The kitchen and laundry branched off of the short foyer to the left, the bedrooms down a short hall to the right. In the middle was the wide expanse of a living room. Rick didn't have a lot of furniture, just a small sofa, for entertaining guests or napping during the day, a reclining armchair, a glass coffee table, and a wall-mounted TV. Underneath the TV was a shelving unit housing several DVDs and CDs.

The entire apartment was floored with a warm, toffee colored carpeting, which was somehow softer than anything Daryl had ever owned in his life. He had a fleeting thought that if Rick didn't want his dirty ass in bed that he'd be perfectly content to just sleep on the carpeting.

"So… what do you think?" Rick asked after he had given Daryl the short tour and helped set the man's things into the closet.

"It's probably as big as m'whole damn house." Daryl said, his voice almost awed, as he once more looked around the living room. Rick had lugged him over to the couch so they could comfortably sit and talk together.

Rick chuckled softly. "That's not what I mean. I mean do you like it?"

"'Course I do. It's a nice place, that's for sure. Comfortable, open, plenty a' space fer two." Daryl let his eyes fall back to Rick's as he said the last part, the blue waters shining with a brightness Rick had only ever seen after their first make-out session.

Rick smiled, taking Daryl's hand in his own and gently stroking the back of it with his thumb. Neither of them spoke, both content in the stillness. They sat that way for several minutes, basking in each other's company, until Rick suddenly rose from the couch and broke their contact. Daryl had to fight the urge not to pout, though he did shoot Rick a quizzical look, which Rick laughed off in the offhand sort of way he had that said _"don't worry, everything will be fine."_

Rick stooped in front of the shelving unit and slid one of the glass panels aside, rifling through his CD collection until he found the one he wanted. Daryl tried to peek around Rick's shoulder at the cover art to see if he could recognize the name of whoever was on that album, but his view was blocked completely.

Rick turned on the TV, switched it to the DVD input, and popped the CD into the DVD player. He picked up the remote, hitting a few buttons at a time until he came to the song he wanted, and then he turned up the volume. Soft, slow, somehow sad music flooded the room, surrounding the two men with its melody.

Rick turned back to Daryl, sidling up to his side once more, and held out his hand, palm up, a gesture of invitation. "Care to dance, Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl's cheeks flushed slightly, and he scoffed. "I ain't got no dancing skills."

"Then don't be so stubborn and let me lead; you'll do just fine that way." The mischievous smirk curving Rick's lips was clearly a challenge.

For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Daryl placed his hand in Rick's and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. In one fluid motion Rick had pulled the redneck just centimeters from his body and wrapped a steady hand around his waist, his other hand still clasping tightly to Daryl's own. Daryl, having no other place to put his hand, was forced to rest it on Rick's shoulder.

"Tryin'a tell me I'm the woman in this relationship?" Daryl grumbled.

Rick laughed again and ducked his head, placing a reassuring kiss on Daryl's lips. "I'd never dream of it, Daryl. Unless, of course, you want to be the woman in the relationship." Rick wiggled his eyebrows obscenely, earning a hearty laugh from his partner.

The two lapsed into silence after that, and Rick restarted the song so that they could share a proper dance. The melodious tune once more filled the room, and Rick couldn't help but pull Daryl flush against his body; there was no space between them now, and their foreheads were pressed together, forcing them to lock gazes.

_Looking back on the memory of  
The dance we shared beneath the stars above  
For a moment all the world was right  
How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye_

Daryl raised an eyebrow at Rick, the lyrics finally hitting him. "This ain't no love song. This is about breaking up. Why'd you put this on, Rick?"

Rick kissed Daryl once more in that same reassuring manner, calming whatever feathers had been ruffled by his music choice. "It's a song about dancing. But not just dancing, one fateful dance that two lovers once shared. To me, this is a love song, because he loved the person enough to have fond memories of the dance they shared, rather than be bitter about them leaving. Listen."

Rick closed his eyes as he and Daryl swayed back and forth, and then he began to sing softly.

"_Holding you I held everything  
For a moment wasn't I the king  
But if I'd only known how the king would fall  
Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all  
And now I'm glad I didn't know  
The way it all would end, the way it all would go  
Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain,  
But I'd have had to miss the dance."_

Daryl closed his own eyes as he listened to Rick's voice infuse with the other man's, thinking it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard in his life. With Rick showing his perspective about the song in this way Daryl was hard pressed to believe it was a love song, too.

"You see, Daryl? He's glad he never missed out on that dance with his partner. Just as I'll always be glad that I never missed this dance with you. No matter what happens between us, I'll always be happy to have this moment, and for you I'd never change a damn thing, whether I know how it'll go or not."

And then they were spinning in slow, lazy circles around the living room, mouths entwined with one another, clutching tightly to each other. Rick brought the hand residing on Daryl waist up to the man's shoulders, pulling him even closer somehow, deepening their kiss. Before Daryl had even registered what had happened his arm had cinched around Rick's neck, holding him in place, and then he was being dipped toward the ground. For one fleeting second Daryl was afraid that Rick would drop him accidentally, but Rick's grip on him never faltered, and neither did his kiss.

And Daryl knew deep in his heart that no matter what happened he would never regret this dance, either. __


	13. Recover

**Chapter 13: Recover**

Over the next few days Rick waited on Daryl hand and foot, tending to his every need. He'd requested a little extra time off from work, telling the chief that he needed some personal time away because one of his cases was getting to him. The chief hadn't put up much argument, considering he'd seen detectives of sound mind have mental breakdowns over seemingly simple cases (and sometimes much more gruesome ones), and had told Rick to come back in a week.

During this time Daryl grumbled a lot, and a soft flush of pink permanently colored his cheeks. He often insisted that he didn't need Rick's help to get from one place to another, and certainly didn't need assistance in the shower, but Rick was never more than an inch away from him, regardless of where he went.

Daryl's bruises were turning that odd yellow color that indicated healing, and every day, several times a day, Rick would run a fingertip over each individual mark and then gently kiss it. This usually caused Daryl's blush to deepen, but Rick seemed not to notice.

The two men usually spent their days and nights parked in front of the TV, watching some show on cable that happened to spark their attention, or maybe putting on a movie they could both agree on. Often times Rick would use the DVD player for his CD collection, playing something within the ranges of country, rock/classic rock, and metal. Daryl had to admit that he was a little taken aback by Rick's music choices at first, but he didn't object to any of them; after all they were the genres that he liked to listen to, when the radio stations would come in on his old stereo or he'd wander into Billy's for a drink.

They got to know each other more when they had music in the background. The instrumentals seemed to open them up a bit more than usual, and sometimes a lyric would spark an interesting conversation or two.

Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry made Daryl give Rick a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"_So do y'like it rough like that, with the scratches all down yer back?"_

_It was Rick's turn to blush then, but he did answer with a curt nod, though his eyes didn't meet Daryl's. _

"_I'll have to 'member that," was all Daryl said in turn._

Remember Everything by Five Finger Death Punch made Daryl get this distant, sorrowful look in his eyes that concerned Rick to no end.

"_Daryl, are you alright?" Rick asked, shifting so that his face was in front of Daryl's, trying to read the expression behind the man's eyes. _

_Daryl's eyes were locked on Rick's, but they weren't quite there. Daryl was looking somewhere farther away than just a few inches in front of him; he was staring into the twisted pathway of his memories. After a few seconds Daryl's eyes refocused on Rick's, the light in them returning once more. _

"_Yeah, I can relate to the song's all." _

That turned into a discussion about Daryl's past, and how it equated to his current self-worth.

"_How can you relate?" Rick asked, tentatively placing a hand on the redneck's shoulder._

_Daryl shrugged, trying to brush Rick's hand away without actually doing as much. "Long story."_

"_We've got all the time in the world. Tell me."_

_Daryl looked away again, his gaze travelling to the front door, and Rick wondered if he was thinking about fleeing so he wouldn't have to talk._

_Finally, Daryl turned back to Rick. "My dad ain't the nicest guy in the world, alright? An' my mom, she's dead. Drank herself into a stupor and decided to light up a damn cigarette in bed. Burned herself to a crisp along with our first house. An' Merle… well, you know how Merle is."_

_Daryl didn't say anything more, he couldn't find the will or the words to do so, but Rick understood well enough. _

"_None of those things are your fault, you know. Some people, they just don't have the right kind of hardware in their brains, aren't wired properly an' all. They take things out on those around them, even if those people are innocent, even if those people are helpless, even if those people are children. And when a child goes through that sort of thing, it fucks them up, Daryl. They don't see themselves in the right light. And I'm betting that's how you are, am I right?"_

_Daryl nodded, sniffling slightly and willing the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes not to fall. _

"_There's nothing wrong with you, Daryl. Not a damn thing. And I know it's hard for you to believe that, but you have to try. Promise me you'll do that, okay? Promise me you won't put yourself down or hate yourself anymore."_

_Daryl looked up at Rick, his eyes wide and covered with a watery sheen. "I promise, Rick."_

_They sealed that promise with a long, slow kiss. _

And now it was Saturday night, somewhere around midnight, and the two were lying side-by-side in bed. Daryl was mostly straight, on account of his still somewhat aching ribs, and Rick was trying to force himself not to curve around the other man until their bodies were molded together. Neither one slept, but they didn't speak either, worried that they might keep the other from slipping over the edge of slumber.

Eventually, though, Daryl had to break the silence. "Ya sleepin' yet?" He whispered, his voice travelling into the shadows above him.

"Not yet. Guess you're not either." Rick chuckled softly, and his arm snaked around Daryl's chest cautiously, trying to pull him closer without injuring him further.

"Got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Like what?"

"Like…" Daryl's voice trailed off after just the one word, and he swallowed roughly, trying to breathe around the lump in his throat. "Like what our first time might be like."

Rick's eyes widened, and he lifted up just enough to rest his chin on Daryl's shoulder. He studied the man's profile in the dim strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds, his eyes tracing the curve of healing nose and luscious lips for what felt like both the first time and the thousandth.

"Really?" Rick breathed the word on a gust of held-in air, his warm breath fanning over Daryl's cheek in a not-unpleasant sort of way.

Daryl swallowed again, his lips parting as he took in another breath not quite deep enough to reach his lungs. "Yeah."

Rick pressed his lips to the hollow of Daryl's cheek, his lips moving against the skin there as he spoke. "Do you want to find out?"

The way Daryl turned his head, his lips capturing Rick's with passionate hunger, was answer enough. Rick moved his hands to the bed and pushed himself up so that he could lean over Daryl; he didn't want the man to strain himself and set his recovery back another week.

Their mouths moving as one, Rick shifted his body over Daryl's so that he was now straddling the redneck, the stiffness tenting both of their boxers rubbing together as they moved.

Daryl's breath hitched in his throat as Rick slowly rotated his hips forward, grinding their groins together, which gave Rick an opportunity to move his lips to that swanlike neck of Daryl's. His mouth latched onto the skin just above the jugular vein, sucking and nibbling like just the taste of Daryl's flesh was mother's milk.

Daryl's eyes slipped closed and he groaned quietly, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. Suddenly he felt the tug of his boxers being pulled down his hips, the fabric brushing against his erection on its way down, and then it was gone, Rick throwing the underwear over the side of the bed without a care. Daryl had to admit that the feeling of his bare skin against the fabric of Rick's boxers was a lot more pleasant that when his crotch had been covered.

"Let me take hold of your mind, where every decadent thought is my favorite kind. Let me console you tonight, and recover. Let me take hold of your mind, and all the love's that we've lost will not plague us this time. When I behold you tonight we'll recover." Rick mumbled against Daryl's skin, his voice taking on the humming quality of singing without actually doing so.

Daryl didn't know the song Rick was whispering into his neck, but damn if it didn't arouse him even more than he already was. He reached up, his fingers tangling into Rick's hair as if to hold him in place and pull him back up to his lips all at the same time. His other hand moved to Rick's waist, clumsily lowering the detective's underwear so that he could feel him, every part of him, skin-t0-skin, with no barriers between.

Rick helped him remove the pesky pair of undergarments, and then they were touching, they were really touching, in the most intimate ways possible. Daryl had never felt things from this perspective before, but he most certainly wasn't adverse to it. Rather, he seemed to crave it, and he eagerly thrust his hips against Rick's, trying to feel the sensation of their togetherness everywhere at once.

Daryl vaguely registered Rick reaching for something on the bedside table, or rather inside of its drawer, and then Rick had pulled away, his lips leaving Daryl's neck with a soft popping noise. Daryl's eyes flickered open, and he could make out Rick holding a small bottle of something, and pouring something over his fingers.

Rick seemed to sense Daryl's confusion, because he explained, "It's baby oil. I kind of… practiced before hand. By myself, of course. But I found things are easier if there's some kind of lubrication; less painful for the one on the receiving end."

Daryl could hear the sheepishness in the man's voice, and he couldn't help but laugh. He had forgotten that both of them were virgins, in this sense, because Rick had seemed so skilled and full of expertise a moment ago.

Daryl stopped laughing the second Rick's hips lifted and his back arched, creating quite a gorgeous silhouette, and slicked himself up to his likeness. Daryl bit down hard on his lip, holding back a moan; just the sight of Rick this way was likely to make him come, and he hadn't even been touched yet.

"You ready?" Rick asked, his breathing picking up speed to match his excitement and nervousness.

Daryl could only moan out something resembling "mm-hmm", but that was enough for Rick.

"You're still healing, so just let me do all the work. You can pay me back for this when you're better." Rick grinned mischievously.

Daryl was just about to reply when Rick grabbed his hips, steading himself, and lowered himself down toward Daryl's groin. Daryl had enough sense to reach down and hold himself in place, guiding his cock into Rick so that Rick wouldn't have to struggle so much with that part.

And then there was bliss mixed with warmth. It was tight, tighter than anything Daryl had experienced, but that just made it better. There was wetness, too, from the lubricant, but that was also different. Oh, but Daryl didn't really care how different things were, because they felt too damn good to complain.

Rick was whimpering softly, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain, and Daryl cupped his jaw, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. This seemed to help Rick relax, and he kissed Daryl's thumb in silent gratitude.

They rocked together, rising and falling like the ocean tide, two lovers becoming one. The silence was broken only by the sound of their moans, at least until Rick leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to Daryl's. Their lips parted at almost the same time, each inviting the other inside, and their tongues danced frantically.

Remembering what Rick had said about liking it rough earlier that week, Daryl reached up and dug his nails into Rick's back, raking them through the flesh nearly hard enough to bring blood. It drove Rick crazy, and he groaned into Daryl's mouth.

Soon, much too soon, Daryl was crying out his orgasm, his back arching beautifully as his head fell back, his wispy hair covering the pillow in a dark puddle, and Rick was stroking himself into his own climax.

That night was the first that they truly felt connected; they had recovered.


	14. Raining On Sunday

**Chapter 14: Raining On Sunday**

The day after the boy's first tryst was a difficult one for Daryl, but damned if he'd complain for even a second about any pain he happened to be feeling. His breath hitched more often than normal, and he had a bit of trouble moving or walking, but a wide grin of satisfaction was permanently plastered onto his face. Seeing the happiness in Daryl's expression for the first time in a long time kept Rick from saying anything about the man's injuries having been slightly worsened, too.

Daryl seemed more comfortable, too. He sat closer to Rick on the couch, their legs rubbing against one another, their shoulders pressed together, and twined his fingers around the detective's. It was a bit odd to see Daryl in such a cuddling mood, but Rick didn't mind the attention the redneck was lavishing on him in the least.

In fact, every time Rick leaned in for a kiss, whether he meant to place it on Daryl's lips or not, Daryl willingly returned the affection, capturing Rick's lips and kissing him so sweetly his head spun in dizzying, yet not unpleasant, circles. They kissed more often on that day than they had in the entire span of their relationship before; that's actually what they spent most of that day doing: kissing. Nothing but the other's lush mouth held much attention for them that Sunday.

The sounds of their lips moving in tandem was broken only by the pitter-pattering of rain falling against the roof and windows. At first it had only been lightly sprinkling, but by the afternoon had picked up to nothing short of a storm, and if you were to look out of one of the windows in Rick's apartment you would see nothing but a sheet of water.

The rain didn't dampen their moods, though. It was actually quite the opposite. Daryl loved the rain, and it had a calming effect on him. He reclined lazily on the couch cushions, leaning into Rick's side, and allowed Rick to wrap an arm around his shoulders after a while. For about an hour he even fell asleep on the poor man, his head lolling first onto Rick's chest and then falling unceremoniously into his lap. After the previous night's events Rick figured the man deserved a nap, and didn't have the heart to try and move him. His leg fell asleep and he couldn't feel anything for most of the hour, but he didn't dare shift his position, lest he wake Daryl. Besides, having the redneck's head in his lap gave Rick the opportunity to play with that wispy hair he loved so much. He ran his fingers through it endlessly, gently twirling the strands around his fingertips, marveling at how silky smooth it was.

When Daryl woke up, finally, all bleary-eyed and smiling sleepily, Rick decided they deserved some pizza. He called up his favorite pizza place, a little shop by the name of Uncle Ernie's, and ordered them an extra-large pizza with every meat topping the joint carried.

Daryl hadn't had much pizza in his life, and certainly none as good as Uncle Ernie's, which was Rick's favorite, and Rick took great pleasure in watching Daryl enjoy the food. There was something alluring in the way the redneck would pick a few excess toppings off of a slice and pop them in his mouth, holding them up high and dropping them in. There was something even more alluring in the way he would lick his fingers after every slice, his lips suctioning around the skin as his tongue licked the grease off, soft popping sounds resounding after he pulled each finger out in turn. Rick stopped eating just to watch Daryl lick his fingers, and wondered what it would feel like if Daryl were doing that to him in another, more sensitive place.

"Hidin' a gun in yer pocket, detective?" Daryl smirked, his eyes darting to Rick's tenting boxers and then coming back to rest on the man's eyes.

Rick blushed deeply and turned away, pretending he was interested in a piece of cheese hanging from his half-eaten pizza slice. "There's just something about you sucking your fingers, Daryl. Maybe you shouldn't do that around me anymore."

Daryl chuckled and finished off his slice. "Nah, I think I'll continue."

Daryl then brought his middle finger to his lips, his tongue slowly protruding from his mouth and trailing over his finger, from the junction where it connected to his palm right up to his fingertip. His teeth followed his tongue, gently grazing over his skin in the same path his tongue had created.

"Dammit, Daryl." Rick groaned, setting his pizza back inside the box. The look on his face was more than pained. He wanted Daryl so badly, but he didn't want to worsen his condition more than it already had been due to their sexcapade the night before.

"What's 'a matter, Rick?" Daryl asked innocently, gazing at him with those wide blue eyes.

Rick's breathing hitched in his throat and he huffed, making a move to get up. Daryl put a hand on his chest to hold him back and keep him on the couch, inching closer as he did so.

Uncertainty flashed in Daryl's eyes, his inexperience and nervousness at having even gone this far shining through clear as day. He wanted to be intimate with Rick, wanted to return the favor for what the detective had done for him the night before, but he didn't really know how. He'd never been with a man before Rick, so he didn't quite understand how this whole thing worked, and it was apparent in the way he hesitated after having pushed Rick back.

"You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, Daryl. I can take care of myself tonight." Rick smiled kindly at Daryl, trying to put him more at ease. No one could say the detective didn't have honor; he would never make Daryl do something he wasn't one-hundred-percent comfortable with.

Daryl bit his lip, his gaze shifting between Rick's eyes and his body. "I do want to. I just don't know what the hell I'm doin'."

Rick had to laugh at the lost expression on Daryl's face. "You think I had any idea what I was doing last night? I just let instinct take over, and did what felt right."

Daryl nodded, taking the man's words to heart. He'd always followed his instincts before, and they'd never failed him in the past. His intuition was as sharp and strong as it'd ever been, and there was no reason to doubt it now.

Daryl stepped out of his own head, in a sense, and let his body lead. He barely registered what he was doing as his hand raised to Rick's face, his thumb slowly sliding across the man's bottom lip. Rick's eyes were shining brightly, practically begging him to go further, and the detective flicked his tongue out, tracing the pad of Daryl's thumb. It tasted partly like pizza, but there was the unmistakable flavor of _Daryl _underneath that, and Rick longed for more than just that small sample. But this was Daryl's time to experiment, not Rick's, and he would file that idea away for another rainy day.

Daryl relaxed slightly at Rick's gesture, and his lips replaced his thumb, moving over the detective's with a touch that was feather light and full of building hunger. Rick's mouth responded immediately, conforming to the curve of Daryl's lips as if they'd been born locked together that way.

Daryl pulled back and tentatively kissed his way down Rick's jawline to his throat, his tongue tracing the man's jugular and swirling over the pulse point. Rick moaned quietly, and Daryl could feel the vibration on his tongue. Hearing that sound, feeling that tingling hum coming off of his love's skin, seemed to break open the floodgates to Daryl's less reserved side.

He sunk his teeth into Rick's throat, careful not to bite hard enough to hurt, but ravaging the flesh there all the same. Rick moaned again, the thrumming of his vocal chords hitting Daryl's teeth just exactly right to drive him even more wild.

Daryl's breath was coming out shaky and rickety, but he didn't dare stop now. He pulled back from Rick's neck, noticing with some satisfaction that he'd made quite an attractive red mark on the man's flesh, and grabbed Rick's hand. He lifted Rick's hand to his lips and slowly licked the man's middle finger, his teeth following his tongue just as he had done to himself earlier. And then Rick's finger was in Daryl's mouth completely, and Daryl was sucking on it fervently.

Rick held back a groan of pure pleasure, the sound catching in his throat along with his breath. God, but Daryl looked so fucking sexy sucking on him like that, even if what he was sucking on was a finger and not something more poignant. The stiffness tenting Rick's boxers was aching now, his balls tightening in arousal, and he knew he'd come right there in his shorts if Daryl didn't stop his antics in the next five seconds.

But maybe that wouldn't be so bad, because if he could get some release right now he'd have more time to really enjoy the way Daryl's mouth curved around his flesh, the way the soft, moist surface of his tongue felt brushing against the sensitive skin of his fingertips, and the way his cheeks hollowed slightly as he softly sucked on that finger.

"Daryl," Rick breathed, the word coming out in a half-whisper, half-groan. "I'm close. Please…" The sentence trailed off, Rick unable to even comprehend what it was he wanted out of this. Did he want Daryl to continue and just stain his boxers, or did he want Daryl to stop and maybe turn his attention elsewhere?

Rick didn't understand his request, but Daryl seemed to. He let Rick's finger slip from his mouth and fall unceremoniously to his lap, where Rick instantly latched onto his groin and squeezed. Daryl was transfixed by the detective's movements, wanting to watch Rick pleasure himself so that he'd have some idea of how to make the man happy in the future. But his instincts told him that wasn't the right thing to do, that he needed to continue with something else and quickly.

Daryl gruffly pushed Rick's hand away from his crotch, earning him a disappointed groan from the man. Rick's head flopped against the back of the couch, gasps wracking his throat, and his fist clenched tightly as he tried hard to think of something else, anything else, to make this last longer; clearly Daryl had something in mind, and it wouldn't do any good for Rick to spoil that by coming so soon.

Daryl was more than a little ecstatic to be having this effect on Rick, and had he not been so eager to continue he might have enjoyed watching the man writhe with need under his hands. He would keep that in mind for the future.

Daryl gripped the waistband of Rick's boxers between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling the garment as far down as he possibly could from the positions they were in, satisfied when the fabric went to the top of Rick's knees. He hesitated again, this time at how beautiful the sight of Rick exposed to him was, and then reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Rick's shaft.

_Man, how the fuck do I do this kinda shit? _Daryl thought to himself, kneading Rick cautiously with his thumb while he tried to figure everything out. Rick's hips bucked upward, trying to feel more of Daryl's touch, and he groaned once more, this time low and guttural, sounding like a caged animal.

_Maybe if I just do this to him the way I like it, that'll be good, at least fer now. We can probly figure out all the details later, when we both got more patience, anyway. _

Daryl squeezed Rick's cock a little harder, stroking in time with Rick's thrusting, his thumb still massaging as it moved up and down. He smoothed his thumb over the tip, slicking his palm with the pre-cum Rick had already leaked. That worked to make Rick even more sensitive, and his back arched against the couch cushions.

Daryl suddenly had an idea. Deciding to run with the whim, he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the head of Rick's cock, sucking it the way he had previously sucked the man's fingers.

"Oh God, Daryl." Rick cried out, his hand latching onto Daryl's shoulder, the nails digging in furiously. He wanted so badly to tangle his finger's in the redneck's hair, give him a push in the right direction, but he didn't want to upset Daryl; the man's shoulder would have to do.

Daryl, figuring things out as he went along, let his mouth slip farther downward, his hand falling to the base of Rick's shaft. This new experience was actually quite pleasant for Daryl, and he found that the delicious taste of Rick that he loved so much was stronger here than on his lips, and that made him want it more. His tongue lapped at the skin while his lips rose and fell in a rough sucking motion, his hand moving from Rick's groin to his hip instead; Daryl gripped Rick's hip tightly, pinning him to the sofa.

Rick, his head still thrown back, his spine still arched, struggled not to buck into Daryl's warm mouth. For a man who was a virgin at this he was doing a much better job than Lori'd ever done, and damn if Rick wasn't right at the cusp of release once again. How he managed to hold out that long was a mystery, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it in for another thirty seconds.

"Daryl, I… I'm…" Rick couldn't get the words out, but he hoped that the redneck would infer his meaning simply from the look on his face.

He looked down toward Daryl, watching the luscious lips work on him, and when Daryl looked back up at him, their eyes locking, blue on blue, and Rick saw that spark of mischievousness and enjoyment burning bright behind Daryl's wide pupils he was coming, hard. He uttered out a loud cry of ecstacy, his fingers tangling into the tendrils of hair at the nape of Daryl's neck, not to keep him in place, but just to grip and hold some part of him more closely.

As soon as Rick calmed Daryl pulled back, spitting into a stray napkin; he wasn't quite ready to try swallowing. He turned back to Rick, about to ask how it was, when Rick was right there in front of him, his hand gripping the back of the redneck's head tightly as his lips crashed down on Daryl's. Rick's tongue begged entry and Daryl parted his lips willingly; their tongues danced, Rick tasting himself lingering on Daryl's tongue.

Rick's hands moved to cup Daryl's jaw, stroking the man's cheeks lovingly, and he broke their kiss, choosing to press their foreheads together instead. Rick's warm breath puffed over Daryl's face, his breathing still shallow and not all there.

"So was it alright?" Daryl asked, the old familiar self-consciousness setting in once again.

Rick stared into Daryl's eyes, his lips curving into a wide grin. "No, it was terrible." Rick rolled his eyes as he laughed, pressing another kiss to Daryl's pouty lips. "Actually it was amazing."

Daryl smiled, a light blush coloring his cheeks at how pleased he was by Rick's praise.

That night the two men fell asleep curled into each other's warmth, the sound of rain falling against the rooftop effectively ending their Sunday night.

**Author's Note: If this seems a little out of character for Daryl, please just remember that it's an AU fic and things can be changed as necessary to fit the particular plot of this story. I'm trying to keep the two characters as true to their show counter parts as possible, but considering that this is nothing like the show some things might end up a little bit different. **

**Also, I had an idea for this fic that I wanted to get an opinion on. I'm thinking that, somewhere in the very distant future, I could give Rick and Daryl a child. Let them adopt or go through a surrogate or something, but give them a kid just the same. So I need you all to let me know whether or not you think this is a good idea. If you do want to see me write them with kids then please also tell me what gender you think the baby should be. **

**Thanks, everyone.**


	15. Bang The Doldrums

**Chapter 15: Bang The Doldrums**

Daryl was brought into Monday morning by Rick's lips pressing softly against his cheek. Daryl blinked into awareness, his eyes searching for Rick's face. Rick chuckled lightly at the way Daryl was trying to find him, and leaned forward, his lips brushing the man's cheek once more.

"I'm right here, love." Rick whispered into the hollow of Daryl's cheek.

Daryl calmed, a small smile curving his lips. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, detective."

Daryl gently pushed Rick away so that he could sit up. Rick caught him around the shoulders and helped pull him into the proper position, earning him several half-hearted slaps to the arm.

"What time is it?" Daryl asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Right about seven in the morning. I have to go back into work today, remember? Gotta be in there by eight or the chief will have my ass, and frankly I'd rather keep that part of my body reserved for you alone." Rick smirked, reaching out and pushing some tendrils of hair off of Daryl's forehead.

Daryl yawned again and stretched his arms out, groaning with satisfaction as his joints popped. "Yeah, I ain't much fer sharin', anyhow."

Rick laughed and shook his head. "I just wanted to let you know I was leaving. Go back to bed; I'll be home around five or six, hopefully."

"Alright." Daryl's mouth pulled down into what appeared to be a pout, his tone sounding rather disappointed.

Rick didn't know what Daryl would have to be disappointed about in this situation, but he didn't have time to ask all the questions forming on his tongue at that moment. "Kiss goodbye?" He asked, leaning toward Daryl and touching their foreheads together.

Daryl didn't hesitate to mold his mouth to the detective's, and Rick had to force himself to pull away. He pecked the tip of Daryl's nose once, wishing he could stop to enjoy the way the man crinkled and wiggled his nose up afterwards, looking as cute as a bunny, then grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.

Daryl fell back onto the pillows and wrapped his arms around himself, already missing Rick's warmth beside him. He'd been spoiled by the week they'd spent together, but it was time to grow up and realize that they couldn't stay like that forever. Rick had obligations to tend to, money to make, and people to help. And Daryl… well, Daryl didn't have much of anything anymore, except for Rick.

He wasn't bothered to have Rick as his most precious thing in the world, but he was bothered that he didn't have a source of income with which to help out. He'd been fired from his job at Navy's Mechanics, the shoddy auto-body shop about half a mile from his former home, a week before Merle had beaten him senseless. Just one more thing to thank Rick for: if Rick hadn't scooped him up and brought him home like the stray he was, he'd have been through most of his last paycheck by now, and would have to roam the woods and hunt for food until he could find a new job.

Wouldn't have been the first time, but it's not like he enjoyed having to do that. He hated how poor and worthless it made him feel. He'd had to hunt for survival, in a way, but he couldn't picture it like that. To him it seemed more like murder, because he didn't need to eat those animals for a life or death situation, not really. Or at least he would never truly believe that he'd needed to do so, whether it was true or not.

Daryl shook his head, clearing those thoughts from his mind. He had so much to thank Rick for, so much debt to the man that he could never fully repay, and still the man only wanted to give him more, wanted to give him the whole world and then some, and it made Daryl feel guilty.

He was still healing, so he couldn't go out and work a nine-to-five job like he'd done before, certainly couldn't do anything with heavy lifting or a lot of moving, at least not for another month or two. But he could at least make the house look nice for Rick, right? Maybe cook him dinner every night, as a way to show his gratitude. He was technically a guest in this place anyway, and if didn't do something to pull his weight he feared that Rick would grow upset with him, call him lazy, maybe even kick him out, and there was no way he could handle that.

So he could keep the apartment clean, make sure everything was spotless and shiny and put in its proper place, and he'd make sure Rick came home to a hot, well-cooked meal when he got home from work. Rick did so much, not only for Daryl, but for so many other people in their city, that he deserved at least that much.

Rick let out a gust of breath when he finally got home, his key connecting with the lock, his suit jacket slung over his shoulders in a most unprofessional manner. He'd had to run damn near all over creation tracking Merle with a few other officers because someone had reported a sighting of the man that day. They searched mostly in the woods, guns drawn and at the ready, trying to figure out the ways of the hunter as they went along (though none of their tracking skills were much match for Merle's, and he quickly escaped their grasps).

He'd been debating with himself all day, even during the time in the forest when he should have been focusing, on whether or not to tell Daryl about the whole ordeal. It could upset the man he loved to hear that his brother was close to being arrested, regardless of whether or not said brother had beaten him damn near six feet into the ground. Daryl was too loyal for his own good, especially when it came to his blood relations, and Rick figured that telling him would be more trouble than it was worth. But at the same time Rick believed that Daryl had a right to know; after all, Rick would want to know if he were in Daryl's position. The whole thing was a vicious Catch 22, because neither outcome was likely to end well.

But now Rick was home, and he still didn't have an answer for himself, and all he could do was pray that Daryl wouldn't ask about his day.

The smell of cooking steak hit Rick square in the face when he opened the door, wiping clean all of his worries, for the present moment. The scent of potatoes baking in the oven wafted just under the smell of the steak, and it made Rick's mouth water even more. He followed the smells floating away from the kitchen, knowing that they led to something wonderful, and came face to face with a very happy looking Daryl.

Daryl seemed not to have heard or noticed Rick's entry yet, perhaps because he was so focused on what he was doing, but the smile on his face was wide and genuine and it made Rick's heart dance to see those lips curved up that way. His eyes were staring intently at the steak he was flipping with a pair of tongs, but even from where Rick was standing he could see that those blue waters were shining like the ocean at noon.

Rick thought he could probably stand there forever, dumbstruck and in twenty different kinds of fascination over the way Daryl's face was lit up, but then Daryl finally caught sight of him. The smile widened more than Rick would have thought possible for Daryl's facial muscles, those sparkling eyes locking onto his, and Rick nearly melted into a puddle right there on the floor.

"Welcome home, detective."


	16. Speak

**Chapter 16: Speak**

Rick stepped into the kitchen, his arms outstretched and reaching for Daryl. Daryl rolled his eyes, but obliged the detective by stepping into his embrace. Rick wrapped his arms around the redneck's broad shoulders, squeezing him tightly, and placed loving kisses from temple to jaw and back again.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble for me." Rick mumbled into Daryl's hair, inhaling deeply to breathe in the other man's sweet scent.

"'Course I did. Hadda repay ya for takin' are of me somehow." Daryl murmured, poking at the steak with the tongs still gripped in his hand.

Rick pulled back, trying to catch Daryl's eyes, or at least the expression on his face. "You don't have to repay me for anything, Daryl. I love you, so of course I'm going to take care of you when you're hurt."

Daryl's cheeks flushed a soft pink and he kept his gaze pointedly fixed on the food, hoping the detective would just let the subject drop. When Rick stayed silent, still staring a hole into Daryl's temple, Daryl knew he needed to say something. "I love you, too, Rick."

Rick huffed, but didn't say anything else. He just placed a kiss on the other man's cheek and released him. Daryl finally looked over as Rick pulled away, afraid that he'd upset the other man, but Rick grinned at him as he stooped to pick up his briefcase. "I'm going to get washed up and ready for dinner."

Daryl nodded, his lips curving into his patented side-long smile as he watched Rick walk away.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Rick was mumbling around a large bite of steak, his eyes closing in appreciation of the amazing meal before him.

Daryl blushed and dipped his head, his long bangs falling over his eyes. "My mom taught me sometimes, when she wasn't drunk or high or laid up after one'a dad's beatings. Wasn't often, but it was enough."

Daryl hadn't said much, but he'd inadvertently opened up to Rick, flinging wide one of the doors to his past without a second thought. Or at least that's how Rick saw it. In reality Daryl was terrified of what just that sentence would bring about in the way of questions about his childhood or his parents. He was fully expecting Rick to start in on him about something or another, but Rick stayed silent, chewing his food with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Finally, Rick spoke up. "Sounds like she was a quite a cook."

What Daryl said hadn't sounded like that at all, except in maybe the very vaguest sense, but Daryl was grateful that Rick hadn't focused in on anything else.

Rick, meanwhile, was still debating on whether or not to tell Daryl about what had happened earlier in the day concerning Merle. Daryl had a right to know, of course he did, but that kind of information could make him close up again; or worse, it could make him want to move out of Rick's place and go back to his own, back to where Merle could easily find him and hurt him all over again. Besides, Rick could just hide under the guise of the case being confidential, and Daryl would probably never think to ask questions anyway.

But Daryl, that beautiful man sitting across from him, had been nothing but loyal and trusting of Rick, and Rick owed it to him to tell him everything happening with his brother. Screw the confidentialities of the case. Screw the personal emotions they now both had interfering with clear thought on the matter. Daryl had opened up a piece of himself to Rick, and Rick had to repay him that.

That was really the only thing worth repaying, anyhow. Daryl needed to see that Rick tending to him was something the detective was more than willing to do, something that needed no payment or returned favor, but he also needed to see that talking, about himself or about anything in general, was something to be rewarded.

Sure, it probably wouldn't seem like a reward at first, but in time Daryl would come to understand that Rick meant well, that Rick wanted to earn his trust, and that was what would make Daryl open himself further. And Rick wanted his redneck spread wide, in every sense of the phrase. He wanted to see the inner machinations of Daryl's mind, wanted to know what made him happy or sad or angry, wanted to know which subjects to stray from unless absolutely necessary and which to talk more about. He wanted all of Daryl, even the tragic backstory haunting him, and he wanted Daryl to feel the same way for him.

So Rick made up his mind. He would tell Daryl about the case, every last detail of it.

"Daryl, I need to talk to you about something." Rick said, laying his fork aside.

Daryl's eyes widened under the cover of hair, a wave of panic washing over him. Rick was probably going to tell him that even cooking and cleaning wasn't enough to make up for his inabilities. He was going to kick him out. He was going to break up with him. A million horrible scenarios ran through Daryl's mind on a sort of film-reel, and they all worked to tie his stomach in knots and make him a lot more than nauseous.

"What?" Daryl managed to croak out, his eyes flickering up to, briefly, catch Rick's gaze.

Rick sighed, breaking their eye contact first, and that was what really frightened Daryl. Rick never looked away first, he just stared at you until you felt uncomfortable enough to talk to him; it was one of the reasons he was a great detective, and a great lover.

"This might be troubling, but I feel you have a right to know about it. We almost caught Merle today, me and some uniformed men. We tracked him into the woods, spent hours combing the trees and bushes with a fine-toothed comb, but he managed to elude us. He could still be in the woods, or he could be somewhere else entirely. But what you need to know is…" Rick let his sentence trail off, unsure of how to continue.

"What is it?" Daryl asked, reaching across the table to gently run his fingertips over the back of Rick's hand. He hoped his touch would be able to rouse Rick from this odd mood he'd dropped into.

Rick looked up at Daryl's touch, meeting his troubled eyes, and found the will to continue. "I think we're close to catching him, Daryl. It could take another month or two, or it could only take a few days. But soon enough he's going to be in custody or… dead."

Daryl let his hand drop back to the table, trying to come to terms with what Rick had just said. Merle was an asshole who had kicked his ass just for loving Rick, had threatened Rick's very life, but Merle was still his brother. Daryl wanted to take a bat to the back of his head, but he didn't really want to see him dead, at least he didn't think he wanted that.

But there was a part of him, hiding deep in the recesses of his mind, that would have loved to see Merle dead. After everything Merle had put him through, well he was almost as bad as their father. And that tiny part of him wanted to take a bat to the back of Merle's head until Merle wasn't moving, until Merle was just a lifeless corpse with blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. And that scared Daryl more than anything else in the world, aside from losing Rick.

Rick waited for Daryl to say something, to respond in some way, but he didn't. The redneck simply got up and walked away. A few seconds later Rick heard the bedroom door close; it wasn't slammed shut, just closed, and that didn't sit quite right with Rick.

But there was nothing Rick could do now. If he followed Daryl into the room, tried to corner him and make him talk, that could cause an even bigger problem, and Rick wanted to avoid that at all costs.

So he finished his dinner in lonely silence, cleared the dishes from the table, wrapped Daryl's food for him and set it in the fridge for later, and plopped down on the couch with the TV remote in his hand. And then he settled in for the long wait.


	17. Torn

**Chapter 17: Torn**

Daryl stood with his back against the door he had so gingerly shut, his breath coming in short gasps that made the pain in his still-healing ribs flare sickeningly. He wrapped one arm around his torso, his fingers latching onto the sore places and attempting in vain to massage them away, as if they were merely just bad cramps. In the end he gave up and took to trying to breathe normally, in through his nose and out through his mouth, nice and slow.

He should have been prepared for this a long time ago. Merle, his darling older brother, had been in and out of jail since he was fourteen, might have been there a lot more had he not enlisted in the Marines. So his being close to going to prison again was really no big surprise, but that still didn't explain why Daryl was freaking out about it.

Maybe it just seemed different this time, now that he had a much more personal relationship with the person who would ultimately be responsible for locking Merle up and throwing away the key. Or maybe it was different because he was still a bit upset, to put it mildly, that Merle had nearly killed him for having that personal relationship in the first place.

But Daryl thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that Merle had threatened the only person in the world Daryl had left to care about. And Daryl wasn't one to take threats lightly, especially not when they came from one of the few people he knew who would actually carry them out.

That still made Daryl's blood boil, that threat. Daryl could take a beating, could lick his wounds and heal up and move on like nothing in the world had happened, Lord knows he's done it before, but he couldn't take someone, regardless of who they were, becoming a danger to a person he cared about. And if he were being honest with himself he cared a lot more for Rick than he did for Merle.

That's not to say this whole ordeal wasn't running its course on him, though. Daryl paced the room, muttering obscenities under his breath, cursing his brother and his father and his love for the only truly innocent person in the mix, Rick. He paced until his ribs ached and he couldn't physically pace any longer, and then he sat on the edge of the bed and fidgeted, his fingers wringing the sheets, his foot bouncing up and down on the floor.

He wanted Merle to be caught. He didn't want Merle to be put into jail again, this time for who knew how long. He wanted Merle to pay for what he'd done, not only to him, but to Rick as well. He didn't want Merle to get hurt, because that was still his older brother out there. He was filled with righteous anger and crippling despair, and for the life of him he couldn't tell which was more powerful.

Rick had flipped through the TV channels about seven times, never finding anything to watch because each time he tried to settle on something he would start thinking about Daryl, worrying actually, and he wouldn't be able to concentrate.

On his eighth time around Daryl finally emerged from their bedroom, shuffling slowly into the room and plopping down beside Rick with no grace whatsoever. The poor man looked like hell, his eyes a bottomless well of painful emotions, his face drawn into a scowl, one arm thrown over his torso still, unconsciously trying to ease his aching injuries and wounded soul.

Rick didn't speak, simply turned off the TV and set the remote down on the table, then turned to face Daryl, his eyes roving over the man beside him. Rick noted that Daryl's knuckles were a pinkish-red, as if he'd hit something repeatedly, and his long, shaggy hair was in a more frazzled state than usual.

Rick longed to reach out to Daryl, to pull him into a gentle embrace and just hold him until he felt well enough to talk or cry or pull away or whatever it was that the younger Dixon did to cope. He wanted to push the locks of hair away from the face he'd fallen in love with, shower the man's cheeks and forehead with tender kisses to help ease the pain. He wanted to show Daryl that he was there for him, but he didn't have the faintest clue how to do so.

So they sat there in silence a while, Rick looking at Daryl, Daryl looking pointedly at the wall, silent deliberation raging in his eyes.

Finally, Daryl broke the silence. "M'not mad at ya, Rick, if that's what y'were thinkin'."

"I'm glad to know that, Daryl." That simple sentence lifted a great burden from Rick's shoulders, and he exhaled the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like hours.

"It's just this whole damn situation, y'know? Like I don't wanna see him hurt 'r nothin', but at the same time I just wanna take a fuckin' bat to his head." Daryl shook his head at himself and leaned back, his head falling over the back of the couch as he closed his eyes.

"I understand what you mean. My old partner at the station, Shane Walsh… well, he was a pretty alright guy, someone I'd considered a best friend for a lotta years. And he was a good man, but he got jealous real easy. Always envied me an' Lori; we'd argue a lot over who was better for her, who deserved her, but it never mattered 'cause she never wanted him anyway.

"Well, I wanted to take a bat to his head, too. I thought about pulling my gun on him sometimes, defending my lady's honor or some shit like that." Rick smirked, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "I never meant any of it; it was just a way to blow off some steam when he was pissing me off.

"I still remember the day he got shot, right in the back, and I swear I thought he was going to die. And in that moment I realized that even though he frustrated me to no end, even though he pushed my buttons and got me real riled up, he was a good man who'd always have my back, and I needed to have his. He's in the hospital now, healing up. Should be out soon, then it's on to a rehabilitation center.

"But my point is, Daryl, you never really know your feelings for someone until they are hurt, or facing death. And you have to ask yourself, if Merle were to get shot in front of you, like Shane got shot in front of me, would you help him, or let him bleed?"

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, his head snapping up to lock on Rick's gaze. "I'd help him. Aint' no question about it."

Rick nodded, a smile curving his lips up. "That means you're a good man, Daryl. Even knowing his past and his present, even after everything he did to you, you'd still help him; that makes you a better man than me.

"But what sucks about this whole situation is that you have to remember that Merle's done some God-awful things. He's hurt people, he's hurt you, and he needs to be punished for that. There is justice in this world, Daryl, and though you may not want to see him hurt, wouldn't you want to at least see him pay for what he's done?"

Daryl looked away again, dropping his gaze to the arm around his torso. He did want Merle to get a taste of his own medicine, in a sense. And maybe just seeing him rot in jail for another long while would be good enough to satisfy that.

"Yeah, I do. Just make me a promise, Rick?"

"Anything."

"Make sure he don't get hurt too bad, or killed."

"I swear it with my life, Daryl."


	18. Phase

**Chapter 18: Phase**

A month passed with no real activity in the case, or in the men's lives.

Rick went to work every day, jumping when his desk phone rang, part of him hoping for a tip about Merle, part of him hoping it was nothing but a formality for someone else to handle. Rick wanted to catch Merle more than anything for what he'd done to Daryl, but he also didn't want to come home and tell Daryl that his brother had been locked up again. Overall it was the longest thirty days of his life, and every night he came home tired and stressed.

Daryl noticed the change in Rick, and tried to be the man that Rick deserved. He made dinner each night, one less thing for the poor man to have to worry about, and every smile Rick graced him with was practically a God-send. As long as Rick could still smile Daryl would know that things weren't too bad.

Daryl's ribs were healing up well, and he no longer wheezed when he breathed. He could move with little to no restriction, though if he over-exerted himself he would start to slow and hunch slightly. He began trying to build his strength back up by doing push-ups and crunches in the living room while Rick was at work, since he didn't have much else to do. He'd put in a heavy metal CD, something with thudding beats and angry lyrics like Five Finger Death Punch, and just work his body until he was sprawled flat on the floor, gasping for breath, his side aching. Sure there was pain, but being able to do a few more reps each day felt good, and kept him going.

Daryl also began looking for a job. He searched the classified ads in the paper each day, circling ads from auto-repair shops or warehouses that needed back room operators. He'd make a list of each place he found that day and then call them one after another, crossing out the listings he was rejected from. After the month he still didn't have a job, and no one had called him in for any interviews, but no one could say he wasn't trying.

Due to the high levels of stress on both men, neither of them was in much mood to be very intimate, aside from the kisses they shared throughout the days. It wasn't that they didn't want to be physical with each other, they were just usually too tired or upset to try and initiate anything. That didn't lessen their love for each other, though, nor did it weaken their relationship. They remained faithful, still in the dreamlike state of finally having found someone to love, and slept curled into each other at night, content just to touch the other in some way.

And then one day, right at the end of a month, a call came in on Rick's home phone. Daryl was in the study, spending his time reading one of the books Rick had filed away on a shelf, something about houses with labyrinths that was confusing him to no end but he was determined to finish regardless, when he heard the ring. He quickly darted to the phone, which was in its cradle in the kitchen, hoping it was one of the prospective companies he'd called to ask about a job.

But when he got to the phone he saw that the caller I.D was for Rick's cell phone number. Rick had never called home before, and Daryl's stomach tightened, praying that there was nothing wrong with his love.

"Rick?" Daryl asked, a little breathless, when he finally managed to pick up the phone.

"Daryl, I'm going to be late tonight. We caught Merle; I'm about to go interrogate him right now."

Daryl mumbled something to Rick, something he could no longer remember because it was of such little importance, and then gingerly set the phone back in its cradle.

He'd known this day was coming for a month now, but part of him had never truly expected it to come, had never really thought it'd be on his doorstep staring him in the face. Merle wasn't the smartest wolf in the pack, but he knew how to lay low and slip past the cops, and Daryl figured he'd have been more careful this time since the stakes were so much higher now.

But Merle had been caught, and Rick would be the one to question him. And that dropped his stomach right down to the soles of his shoes, because the only outcome he could picture of having them in the same room together would be one of them laid out on the floor, bleeding and hurt, maybe dead. But Rick had more self-control than that, and surely they would have Merle handcuffed to that little ring in the table, considering how dangerous he was.

Rick would be safe from Merle's wrath, and that's all that really mattered to Daryl now.

That didn't stop him from pacing frantically, though, making a loop from the kitchen to the bedroom and back again. What would Merle say to Rick's questions? What would Rick ask him? Would Rick let their personal lives get in the way, let his emotions get in the way, or would he be impassive like any other detective on the force?

Daryl had an odd vision of Rick smirking while Merle raged and strained against the handcuffs, Rick having told Merle something about his and Daryl's relationship. Daryl shook his head, clearing that thought away. Rick wouldn't do that, of course not.

Daryl's pacing didn't stop for about twenty minutes, his ribs finally protesting his movements enough to make him slow down, take a deep breath, and sit on the couch to relax. He didn't completely relax, his fingers wringing the cushions on the couch, his feet bouncing up and down in a frenzied tattoo, his thoughts battering against his head in an angry tornado of frustration.

And that's how he stayed for too many minutes, too many hours, until Rick finally came home.


End file.
